THANATOPSIS, SELLA, AND 
OTHER POEMS 



^4^VMV(»i4'VVMtl' Jf -I^VVOV^ 



A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and 
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. 



l6mo. 



Cloth. 



25c. each. 



Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. 

Andersen's Fairy Tales. 

Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 

Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. 

Bacon's Essays. 

Blackmore's Lorna Doone. 

Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). 

Browning's Shorter Poems. 

Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 

Burke's Speech on Conciliation. 

Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 

Byron's Shorter Poems. 

Carlyle's Essay on Burns. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship. 

Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Won- 
derland (Illustrated). 

Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale. 

Church's The Story of the Iliad. 

Church's The Story of the Odyssey. 

Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. 

Cooper's The Deerslayer. 

Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans. 

Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

De Quincey's Confessions of an Eng- 
lish Opium-Eater. 

De Quincey's Joan of Arc, and Eng- 
lish Mail-Coach. 

Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and The 
Cricket on the Hearth. 

Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. 

Early American Orations, 1760-1824. 

Edwards' (Jonathan) Sermons. 

Eliot's Silas Marner. 

Emerson's Essays. 

Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History. 

Franklin's Autobiography. 

Gaskell, Mrs., Cranford. 

Goldsmith's Deserted Village and Other 
Poems. 

Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. 

Grimm's Fairy Tales. 

Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. 

Hawthorne's The House of the Seven 
Gables. 

Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selec- 
tions from). 

Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. 

Homer's Iliad. 

Homer's Odyssey. 

Irving's Life of Goldsmith. 



Irving's Sketch Book. 
Irving's The Alhambra. 
Keary's Heroes of Asgard. 
Kingsley's The Heroes. 
Lamb's Essays. 
Lamb's The Essays of Elia. 
Longfellow's Evangeline. 
Longfellow's Miles Standish. 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 
Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 
Macaulay's Essay on Hastings. 
Macaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. 
Macaulay's Essay on Milton. a 

Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rom.e. | 
Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnsor '' 
Milton's Comus and Other Poems. 
Milton's Paradise Lost, Bks. I and II 
Old English Ballads. 
Out of the Northland. 
Palgrave's Golden Treasury. 
Plutarch's Lives (C^sar, Brutus, and 

Mark Antony). 
Foe's Poems. 

Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from). i 
Pope's Homer's Iliad. 
Pope's The Rape of the Lock. 
Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. 
Scott's Ivanhoe. 
Scott's Lady of the Lake. 
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
Scott's Marmion. 
Scott's Quentin Durward. 
Scott's The Talisman. 
Shakespeare's As You Like It. 
Shakespeare's Hamlet. 
Shakespeare's Henry V. 
Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice'* 
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 
Shelley and Keats : Poems. 
Southern Poets : Selections. 
Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 
Stevenson's Treasure Island. 
Swift's Gulliver's Travels. 
Tennyson's Idylls of the King. 
Tennyson's Shorter Poems. 
Tennyson's The Princess. 
Woolman's Journal. 
Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. 



THANATOPSIS, bELLA, AND 
OTHER POEMS ^ 

BY 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

M 

EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 

J. H. CASTLEMAN, A.M. (indiana) 

TEACHER OF ENGLISH AT THE McKINLEY HIGH SCHOOL 
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON : MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd. 

1906 

All rights reserved 



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rUBR/VRYofCONUKhbT 
Two CoDies Received 

V)AN 29 1906 

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No. 



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BY THE 



Copyright, 1906, 



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Published January, 1906- 



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WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, 



i; CONTENTS 

;Introduction : page 

Biographical Sketch . . Ix 

Appreciations , . xvii 

List of Editions of Bryant's Poems xxiv 

List of Biographies and Criticisms xxv 

Earlier Poems : 

Thanatopsis 1 

The Yellow Violet 4 

Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood .... 5 
Song — " Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow " . . 7 

To a Waterfowl 8 

Green Kiver 9 

A Winter Piece „ .12 

'" Blessed are they that Mourn " . ... . .16 

" No Man knoweth his Sepulchre " . . . .- . 17 

Hymn to Death 19 

The Ages 25 

Ode for an Agricultural Celebration . . . .39 

The Eivulet 41 

March 44 

Summer Wind 45 

" I broke the Spell that held me Long" .... 47 

Monument Mountain 49 

Song of the Greek Amazon 54 

V 



CONTENTS 



To a Cloud 

Hymn to the North Star . 

A Forest Hymn 

" Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids " . 

June 

The Death of the Flowers 

The African Chief 

A Meditation on Rhode Island Coal 
The Journey of Life .... 

The Gladness of Nature .... 
The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus . 

A Summer Ramble 

A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson 

William Tell 

The Past 

The Hunter's Serenade .... 
To the Evening Wind .... 
"Innocent Child and Snow-white Flower' 
To the Fringed Gentian .... 
The Twenty-second of December 
Song of Marion's Men .... 

The Prairies 

The Hunter of the Prairies 

Seventy -six ...... 

To the Apennines 

The Green Mountain Boys 

Catterskill Falls 

The Battle-field 

Later Poems : 

Sella 

The Death of Schiller .... 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

The Future Life 137 

The Fountain 139 

The Old Man's Counsel 144 

An Evening Reveiy 147 

The Antiquity of Freedom 150 

A Hymn of the Sea 152 

The Crowded Street 155 

The White-footed Deer 157 

The Waning Moon IGO 

The Land of Dreams ....... 102 

The Planting of the Apple-tree 164 

The Voice of Autumn 167 

The Snow-shower 169 

Robert of Lincoln 171 

The Song of the Sower 175 

Not Yet 182 

Our Country's Call .184 

The Little People of the Snow 187 

Notes 201 

Index to Notes 233 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



Birth and Parents. — William Cullen Bryant was born 
at Cummington, western Massachusetts, on November 3, 
1794. His ancestors were Puritans, both of his parents' 
being descendants of Mayjioioer passengers, his father of 
Stephen Bryant and his mother of John Alden, of whom 
Longfellow was also a descendant. His father. Dr. Peter 
Bryant, was a village physician, highly respected by all 
who knew him for his integrity and intellectual keenness.^ 
He was a well-read man, versed in ancient and modern 
languages, and passionately fond of music and poetry. 
He also took an active interest in politics, representing 
Cummington in the state legislature for several years. 
His mother was a woman of practical sense and great 
force of character. She was a recognized leader in the 
community, always ready to help the unfortunate or to 
assist in the advancement of neighborhood interests. To 
them Bryant owed no small part of his success. Not 
only was he inspired by them with the deep love for jus- 
tice and good reflected in both his writings and his life, 
but he was also encouraged in his literary efforts from 
childhood. No one else has brought out this fact so 
well as the poet himself. In his Hymn to Death he says 
of his father : — 

ix 



X BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

" It must cease, 
Tor he is in his grave who taught my youth 
The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
Offered me to the Muses. . . . 

This faltering verse v^^hich thou 
Shalt not, as wont o'erlook, is all I have 
To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope 
To copy thy example." 

Of his mother he wrote : — 

"Her prompt condemnation of injustice made a strong 
impression upon me in early life, and if in the discussion 
of public questions I have in my riper age endeavored to 
keep in view the great rule of right, it has been owing 
in a great degree to the force of her example, which 
taught me never to countenance a wrong because others 
did." 

Boyhood. — Bryant's boyhood w^as spent at or near 
Cummington, a village of but a few score of inhabitants. 
Here he attended school in company wdth his brothers 
and sisters, or wandered among the hills and forests to 
be met with on every hand. ' He was" a precocious child. 
He knew his letters before he was a year and a half old, 
wrote a descriptive poem of considerable merit at nine, 
and made creditable translations from the Latin poets at 
ten. So promising was his future that his father early 
decided to send him to college. Accordingly he was pre- 
pared for Williams, where he matriculated in the fall of 
1810. He remained there two terms, after which he 
withdrew with the expectation of entering Yale. But 
financial difficulties interfered, and he was forced to 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XI 

abandon his collegiate course. He next turned his atten- 1 
tion to tlie study of law. From his early youth he hadf 
taken a keen interest in the political affairs of the conn-' 
try, and so successful had he been from time to time in^ 
voicing the sentiments of the people in his verses, thai! 
he now resolved upon a public career. The profession 
of the law, although it did not strongly appeal to him, 
seemed the quickest way to recognition. In December, 
1811, he entered the law office of Mr. Howe of Worth- 
ington, a village a few miles from his home, where he 
remained for about two years. He then went to Bridge- 
water and studied under Mr. Baylies, a jurist of consid- 
erable note, until August, 1815, when he was admitted to 
the Massachusetts bar. 

Lawyer and Journalist. — Bryant practised law for nine 
years. After receiving his license, he established him- 
self at Plainsfield, a hamlet four or five miles from Cum- 
mington, where he remained but a short time, going from 
there to Great Barrington to become the partner of a 
young lawyer of that place. He soon purchased his part- 
ner's interest, and in a few months worked up a fairly 
lucrative practice. In the summer of 1819 he was made 
one of the tithing-men olf-ffi5^^^aw^,^nd soon afterwards 
town clerk. The Governor of the state also appointed 
him Justice of the Peace. 

But as already intimated, he was not in sympathy 
with his profession. Literature had early won his heart, 
and he longed to give it his undivided attention. His 
shy, sensitive nature, too, shrank from the wrangling of 
the court room, and as his rising reputation brought him 



Xll BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

increased practice, he grew more and more dissatisfied. 
Finally, in 1825, prompted by his preference for things 
literary and urged by influential friends, he abandoned 
law to take up literature. 

His first experience in his new profession was with 
the Neio York Eeview and Athenoium Magazine. He 
had gone to New York at the suggestion of Mr. Sedg- 
wick, an intimate friend who was much interested in his 
literary ability, and been appointed assistant editor of 
that periodical. The publication proved to be short-lived, 
however, for although well edited, it did not attract 
subscribers enough to maintain it. After having been 
consolidated with several other magazines in rapid suc- 
cession, it was given up. But he was not long with- 
out employment. He was made assistant editor of the 
Evening Post, and on the death of the editor-in-chief a 
few months later was advanced to that position. Here 
he remained throughout the remainder of his life, a 
period of more than a half century. As a journalist he 
was broad-minded, conscientious, and fearless. He never 
permitted personal motives to determine his attitude 
toward public questions, nor compromised with what he 
believed to be wrong. 

Poet. — Bryant's chief ambition from childhood was 
to be a poet. He began to write rhymes at a very early 
age, and by the time he was ten produced a poem that 
was published in the county ]3aper. At the age of thir- 
teen he wrote The Embargo, a political satire, Avhich was 
published in Boston, and which attracted a considerable 
comment throughout the New England states. Then 



J 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xiii 

came TJianatopsis, upon which much of his fame as a poet 
rests, written in 1811. Other poems, including The Yel- 
low Violet, Inscription for the Eyitrance to a Wood, To a ' 
Waterfowl, and Green River followed at short intervals. 
In 1821 he read The Ages before the Phi Beta Kappa 
Society at Harvard, and that same year published his 
first volume of verse. The next four years were busy 
ones, for in that time he wrote thirty poems of which 
Monument Mountain and June are the best known. From 
1825 to 1832 he produced some forty poems, among them 
The Death of the Flowers, The Prairies, and The Evening 
Wind; and in the last year of that period published 
a collected edition of his works both in America and 
in England. Then followed a period of comparative 
inactivity, his attention being largely absorbed in his 
journalistic work. In 1842, however, he published a vol- 
ume of new verse, and two years later added another„ 
New editions of his poems appeared in 1847 and 1854, 
and another volume of new verse in 1864. His final 
edition of his poetry came out in 1876. ^—v, 

'f Bryant was not a prolific writer. In his literary •; 
career, extending over seventy years, he gave to the 
■"Vorld only one hundred and sixty poems, the average 
\ ength of which is but seventy-five lines. He never - 
^' *lttempted to write a long poem, although frequently 
arged to do so by his closest friends, for, with Poe, he 
believed it impossible to sustain the highest degree of 
noetic excellence for any considerable time. Obscurity, 
*;oo, is apt to find its way into such a production, and 
ihere was no other mistake that he sought more to avoid. 



XIV BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

He felt that no poem was fit to leave his hand, if a single 
word or line required study to be understood. 

As a poet, Bryant ranks with Lowell, Longfellow, 
AVhittier, and Holmes. He has the distinction of being 
America's first great writer of verse, and, Avith Irving 
and Cooper, of bringing his country into recognition in 
the literary world. He is distinctively a poet of nature, 
although mankind plays a large part in his productions. /" 
Like Wordsworth, he turned to nature for solace in times 
of discouragement, and with him found there a balm for 
all sorrows. In LittelVs Living Age for February, 1864, 
occurs this estimate of him. " It has been the singular 
felicity of Mr. Bryant that he has done whatever he has 
done with consummate finish and completeness. If he 
has not, as the critics often tell us, the comprehensive- 
ness or philosophic insight of Wordsworth, the weird 
fancy of Coleridge, the gorgeous diction of Keats, the ex- 
quisite subtlety of Tennyson, he is, nevertheless, the one 
among all our contemporaries who has written the fewest 
things carelessly and the most things well. ... As a 
poet of nature he stands without a rival. No one has 
celebrated her as he has in all her changeful aspects of 
beauty and grandeur. Her skies, her seas, her woods, hei 
winds, her rains, her rivers, her snows, her flowers, have, 
been his perpetual inspiration. He has made this fine, 
dwelling place of ours infinitely lovelier to all of us by 
the charms with which he has vested its forms, and b}'' 
the gentle lessons which he has taught us to read in all 
its fair vicissitudes." 

Translator and Orator. — Bryant's broad knowledge of 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XY 

languages, both classical and modern, led him to trans- , 
late selections from many literatures. Short poems from \ 
Greek, Spanish, German, French, and Portuguese authors ' 
found their way into his works. But his crowning act in 
this field was the rendering into English of Homer's Iliad 
and Odyssey. In the fall of 1863 he published a transla- 
tion of the fifth book of the Odyssey, with extracts from 
the Iliad, which met with so much commendation that he 
decided to translate the poems in full. He turned his 
attention first to the Iliad, which he finished in 1870, 
then at once to the Odyssey, which he completed the next 
je?iT.(f' In speaking of this work, he said that he had en- 
deavored to be strictly faithful in his rendering, to add 
nothing of his own, and to give the reader, so far as our 
language would allow, all that he found in the original. 
No other translation of these great classics, with the 
exception of that of Pope, has been more widely read. 
/'Bryant was also a public speaker of no mean ability. 
He was especially effective in delivering orations upon 
the lives and writings of eminent men. ' In 1848 he deliv- 
ered an address before the National Academy of Design 
in commemoration of Thomas Cole, the artist, and after 
that was called upon to give the funeral orations of sev- 
eral of his prominent contemporaries. His ablest dis- 
courses were brought out by the death of Cooper (1851), 
Irving (1859), Halleck (1868), and Verplanck (1870). He 
was also the chief orator at the dedication of monuments 
erected in Central Park to the memory of Shakespeare, 
Morse, Scott, and Mazzini. 

Traveller. — Bryant travelled extensively, visiting many 



XVI BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

countries in the course of his busy life in whose literature 
and history he was especially interested. In June, 1834, 
he crossed the Atlantic, and spent a year and a half in 
travel and study in France, Italy, and Germany, return- 
ing to New York in January, 1836. Early in the autumn 
of 1845 he again went to Europe, going first to Great 
Britain and thence to the continent. While in Great 
Britain he met many men of prominence, and saw many 
places of interest, much attention being shown him. He 
remained abroad but a few months. In the spring of 
1849 he visited Cuba, and in the summer of the same 
year crossed to Europe for the third time, travelling 
through Great Britain and the islands off its coasts, 
then through France, Switzerland, and Germany, arriv- 
ing at home late in December. Three years later he 
again sailed for Europe, going from there to Egypt and 
the Holy Land, and reaching New York in the summer 
of 1853. In 1857 he crossed the Atlantic for the fifth 
time, accompanied by his wife, this time in the interest 
of Mrs. Bryant's health, which was slowly failing. His 
hopes for her recovery, however, were not realized, and 
he returned with her the next year. Eight years later 
he visited the continent for the last time, remaining but 
a few weeks. His last journey of any note was made in 
1872, when he travelled through Mexico. While abroad, 
he wrote many letters for his journal, which were eagerly 
read by the public, his wide acquaintance with historic 
places and his keen observation making them of special 
value. In 1850 he collected and published a number of 
them in a volume, under the title of Letters of a Traveller, 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XVll 

and again in 1869 under the title of Letters from the 
East. 

Death. — Bryant's death — the result of a fall — oc- 
curred in June, 1878. He was entering the home of his 
friend, General James Wilson, on May 29, after deliver- 
ing an address at the unveiling of the statue to Mazzini, 
when, overcome by the heat, he fell upon the stone steps, 
striking heavily upon his head. He recovered conscious- 
ness at intervals, but gradually grew worse. He died on 
the twelfth of his favorite month, June. 

APPRECIATIONS 

The voices of the hills did his obey ; 

The torrents flashed and tumbled in his song ; 
He brought our native hills from far away, 

Or set us 'mid the innumerable throng 
Of dateless woods, or where we heard the calm 

Old homestead's evening psalm. 

— James Russell Lowell, On Board the ''76. 

Bryant's writings transport us into the depths of the 
solemn primeval forest, to the shores of the lonely lakes, 
the banks of the wild nameless stream -or the brow of the 
rocky upland, rising like a promontory from amidst a 
wide ocean of foliage, while they shed around us the 
glory of a climate, fierce in its extremes, but splendid in 
its vicissitudes. — Washington Irving, Letter to Sam- 
uel Rogers, 1832. 

Bryant, during a long career of authorship, has written 
but comparatively little; but that little is of untold 



XVlll BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

price. What exquisite taste, what a delicate ear for the 
music of poetical language, what a fine and piercing 
sense of the beauties of nature, down to the minutest 
and most evanescent things! He walks forth into the 
fields and forests, and not a green or rosy tint, not a 
flower, or herb, or tree, not a tiny leaf or gossamer tissue, 
not a strange or familiar plant, escapes his vigilant 
glance/ The naturalist is not keener m searching out 
the science of nature. than he in detecting all its poetical 
aspects, effects, analogies, and contrasts. To him the 
landscape is a speaking and teaching page. He sees its 
pregnant meaning, and all its hidden relations to the life 
of man. For him the shadow and sunshine, that chase 
each other in swift rivalry over the plain, are suggestive 
of deep meaning and touching comparisons. For him 
the breath of evening and of morning have an articulate 
voice. To him the song of birds is a symbol of that 
deeper song of joy and thankfulness that ascends for- 
ever from the heart of man to the Giver of every good. 
To him the ocean utters its solemn hymns, and he can 
well interpret them to others. What a beautiful gift is 
this ! — G. S. HiLLARD, North American Review for Octo- 
ber, 184^. 

The influence of Bryant's poetry is of a pure and 
ennobling character ; never ministering to false or un- 
healthy sensibility, it refreshes the better feelings of our 
nature, inspiring a tranquil confidence in the on-goings 
of the universe, with whose most beautiful manifesta- 
tions we are brought into such intimate communion. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xix 

Its most pensive tones, which murmur such sweet, sad 
music, never lull the soul in the repose of despair, but 
inspire it with a cheerful hope in the issues of the future. 
— Ilm'per^s New Monthly Magazine for April, 1851. 

The many and high excellencies of Mr. Bryant have 
been almost universally recognized. With men of every 
variety of tastes he is a favorite. His works abound 
with passages of profound reflection which the philoso- 
pher meditates in his closet, and with others of such 
simple beauty and obvious intention as please the most 
illiterate. In his pages are illustrated all the common 
definitions of poetry, yet they are pervaded by a single 
purpose and spirit. Of the essential but inferior charac- 
teristics ol-p.oetry, which make it an art, he has a perfect 
mastery. \Very few equal him in grace and power of 
expression. Every line has compactness, precision, and 
elegance, and flows with its fellows in exquisite harmony. 
His manner is on all occasions fitly chosen for his sub- 
ject. His verse is solemn and impressive, or airy and 
playful, as suits his purpose. His beautiful imagery is 
appropriate, and has that air of freshness which distin- 
guishes the productions of an author writing from his 
own observations of life and nature rather than from 
books. 

'Mr. Bryant is a translator to the world of the silent 
language of the universe. He " conforms his life to the 
beautiful order of God's works." In the meditation of 
nature he has learned high lessons of philosophy and 
religion. With no other poet does the subject spring so 



XX BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

naturally from the object; the moral, the sentiment, from 
the contemplation of the things about him. There is 
nothing forced in his inductions. By a genuine earnest- 
ness he wins the sympathy of his reader, and prepares 
him to anticipate his thought. By an imperceptible 
influence he carries him from the beginning to the end 
of a poem, and leaves him infused with the very spirit 
in which it is conceived. 

In his descriptions of nature there is a remarkable 
fidelity. They convey in an extraordinary degree the 
actual impression of what is grand and beautiful and 
peculiar in our scenery. The old and shadowy forests 
stand as they grew up from the seeds God planted, the 
sealike prairies stretching in airy undulations beyond 
the eye's extremest vision ; our lakes and mountains and 
rivers he brings before us in pictures warmly colored 
with the hues of the imagination, and as truthful as 
those which Cole puts on the canvas. — E-ufus Wilmot 
Griswold, Tlie Poets and Poetry of America. 

Mr. Bryant has written nothing in these poems that 
can have an impure or hurtful tendency. Not a syllable 
is here of which virtue herself could complain, and noth- 
ing that tends to make us laugh at or undervalue our 
fellow-men; but much that tends to make the soul strong 
in opposing error, in bravely battling for truth, and in 
patiently waiting the revelation of a brighter and a 
better day for our afflicted race. His thoughts are chaste, 
generally noble, never low or commonplace, always tend- 
ing to improve those who read. They lead you to the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXI 

pure air and grand scenery of the mountain top, not so 
much that you may look down upon the glorious sight 
of the earth beneath, as that you may be strengthened 
by the healthful exercise, and may get a broader view of 
the illimitable heaven and numberless stars 'above your 
head. His metaphors and similes are easily suggested, 
and actually illustrate his subject and deepen the im- 
pression on the mind, as well as add beauty to the 
language. The verses and stanzas are so harmoniously 
constructed that all their hinges seem to be golden, and 
even the blank verse often moves with as liquid a flow 
as some of Whittier's fiery rhymes. There is a polish 
about these poems that but few Englishmen have been 
willing to wait for. . . . The words are most admirably 
chosen to express sweetness, grace, and elegance or 
energy, patience and hopefulness, — qualities for which 
the poems are especially distinguished. They are easy 
to be understood, definite in sense, and used with great 
precision; in sound they are musical, and admirably 
harmonize with the idea. — Robert Allyn, Methodist 
Quarterly Review for January, 1859, 



As a poet Bryant stands first in American literature. 
His characteristics are great strength and sweetness, a 
noble simplicity and rare melody of versification, lumi- 
nous clearness of expression, tenderness without affecta- 
tion, a deep religious sympathy with nature joined to a 
rare gift of • insight and masterly felicity in interpreting 
its spirit, a profound sensibility to all affecting phases 



xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

of human experience, exquisite taste, a powerful imagi- 
nation, and a manly and genuine sincerity. He excels 
as an artist in portraying features that are most intensely 
suggestive, and in so preserving the natural relations of 
things described that their vitality strikes us where we 
are most susceptible and receptive. From all literary 
trickery of every sort he is utterly free. With his fervor 
and energy, he has a calm and majestic repose. In some 
of his more serious poems he shows a Miltonic grandeur, 
yet with no signs of effort. The accusation of poetic 
frigidity that was once in fashion against him was long 
ago abandoned as unjust. Those who feel deepest, and 
see down where flow the undercurrents of life, know full 
well that there is a divine heat in the poet's soul. But 
it does not produce bubbles, or fog, or roil, or sputter, 
or even glittering pyrotechnics. His has a solemn and 
sweet dignity which is never betrayed into rant or decla- 
mation. Every line is a jewel. The range of his topics 
is wide, and, though his original poems are not volumi- 
nous, yet he has treated just those themes that have the 
deepest significance to us, — life and death, home and 
country, liberty and religion, — while no poet has ever 
given more perfect delineations of nature in her varying 
moods. 

His ethics are pure and elevating. In his narratives 
of life, his prophecies of liberty, his pictures of human 
disenthrallment and progress and aspiration, he shows 
a philosoplnc insight and comprehensiveness, a devout 
spirit, and a temper of genuine philanthropy. The in- 
spirations of his poetry are, therefore, of the highest and 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH xxiii 

finest quality. In all he has written there is no line 
appealing to a base passion, not a suggestion that is in- 
delicate, not a sentiment that can be used in the support 
of any evil or injustice. As pure as the snowflake, yet 
as warm as the tropic wind, is the spirit out of which is 
born his glorious song. Those who wish clearest visions, 
walk most reverently with nature, and who, in the sym- 
pathies of a tender and strong humanity, aspire most 
sincerely for virtue and freedom and brotherhood, never 
cease to find strength and refreshment in his noble strains. 
They come with an invigorating vitality, moving, consol- 
ing, and replenishing life in its soundless depths. We 
feel in " the great miracle that goes on around us " that 
infinite love is ever working and benignant. And so the 
earth and its companionships are more sacred, and our 
existence becomes a more expressive note in the high 
harmony of the universe. 

As a man, Bryant presents whatever is cultivated, us^*^ 
ful, and admirable in human character and life. Te^his 
splendid genius he joins the noblest virtues. Whatever 
the temptation, he has never abused his powers and op- 
portunities for unworthy ends. No one can point out in 
his career an act of injustice, the betrayal of a trust, the 
advocacy of a doctrine or support of a candidate that his 
own selfish interests might be secured. He has devoted 
his long and laborious life to the highest culture, and to 
a beneficent service that has never swerved from its high 
aim. What is never to be ignored in the estimate of the 
man is the truth, honor, justice, philanthropy — the high 
Christian conscience — that he has carried into every field 



xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

of his endeavor, and which consecrates his renown. He 
has lived constant to his ideal. As Holmes says of 
him : — 

How shall we thank him that in evil clays 
He faltered never, — nor for blame nor praise, 
Nor hire, nor party, shamed his earlier lays ? 
But as his boyhood was of manliest hue. 
So to his youth, his manly years were true, 
All dyed in rough purple through and through. 

One might say that such a life has been singularly 
fortunate, but the word does not convey the correct idea 
of it. It is the result of the obedience to divine law, and 
is, therefore, a splendid example of manhood. Filling, as 
this life does, such a space in the affections of men, so 
grand in its simplicity, so rich in its fruitage, so manifold 
in its utilities, so harmonious in its symmetry, '' like per- 
fect music set to noble words," Bryant may well have 
to-day the reverent homage of a grateful generation. 

— Horatio N. Powers, Lecture, November, 187 J/.. 

LIST OF EDITIONS OF BRYANT'S POEMS 

The Embargo, or Sketches of the Times, 1808. 

The Embargo, the Spanish Revolution and Other Poems, 1809. 

Poems, 1821. 

Poems, 1832. (Also published in England.) 

Poems, 1834. 

Poems, 1836. 

Poems, 1839. 

The Fountain and Other Poems, 1842. 

The White-Footed Deer and Other Poems, 1844. 

Poems, 1847. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH XXV 

Poems, 1854. (Two volumes. Also published in England.) 
Thirty Poems, 1864. 
Poems. 1871. 

Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant, 1876. 
The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant, 1883. (Two 
volumes.) 

Homer's Iliad, 1870. (Translation.) 
Homer's Odyssey, 1871. (Translation.) 

LIST OF bioghaphies akd criticisms 

William Cullen Bryant (Biographies), Parke Godwin; A. J. 
Symington ; Ray Palmer ; John Bigelow, in the American Men of 
Letters Series ; D. J. Hill in the American Authors Series. 

William Cullen Bryant (Criticisms), Bayard Taylor, Critical 
Essays and Literanj Notes; Edwin P. Whipple, Literature and 
Life ^ and Essays and Beviews ; James Grant Wilson, Essays: 
Critical and Imaginative ; George William Curtis, Literary and 
Social Essays ; James Russell Lowell, Fable for Critics. 



EAELIER POEMS 



°THANATOPSIS 

" Thanatopsis," both in conception and execution, is a noble example 
of true poetical enthusiasm. It alone would establish the author's claim 
to the honours of genius. — Christopher North. 

" Thanatopsis " oives the extent of its celebrity to its neai^ly absolute 
freedom from defect, in the ordinary understanding of the term. I 
mean to say that its negative merit recommends it to the public atten- 
tion. It is a thoughtful, ivell-constr acted, well-versified poem. The 
concluding thought is exceedingly noble. — Edgar Allan Poe. 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
°Communion with her visible forms , she speaks 
A ^various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5 

Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and °sad images lo 

Of the °stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the °narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 15 

Earth ^id her waters, and the depths of air — 
Co- <5^ ' *-ill voice — Yet a few days, and thee 



kv 



^ 



2 EARLIER POEMS 

The all-beholding sun shall see no more 

In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 20 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy °image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25 

To mix for ever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude °swain 

Turns with his °share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With ^patriarchs of the °infant world — with kings, 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 35 

Fair forms, and hoary °seers of'ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre./ The hills 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; , 

The ° venerable woods — rivers that move 40 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old Ocean's gray and.°melancholy wast^^*^ — 
/Are but the solemn decorations all 

I Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, . , 45 
•JThe planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 



THAN ATOP SIS 3 

■Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to/Che tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. -/^Take the wings so 

Of morning, pierce the °Barcan wilderness, 

Or lose thyself in the °continuous woods 

Where rolls the °Oregon^ and hears no sound, 

Save his own dashings^yet the dead are there: 

And millions in those "solitudes, since first 55 

The flight of years began, have laid them down 

In their last sleep ^~ the dead reign there alone. 

So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdra^w 

In silence from the living,' and no friendv 

Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 60 

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one as before will chase 

His favorite °phantom; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 65 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glide away, the sons of men. 

The youth in lifers green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 

The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 70 

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 

By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy ^summons comes to join 
The "innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75 



4 EARLIER POEMS 

His chamber in the silent halls of death, 

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80 

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



THE YELLOW VIOLET 

When beechen buds begin to swell. 

And woods the blue-bird's warble know, 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Ere °russet fields their green resume, 
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare. 

To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
Alone is in the °virgin air. 

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 
First plant thee in the watery mould. 

And I have seen thee blossoming 
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 

Thy parent sun, who l^ade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip. 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 



INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD 5 

°Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 
And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 

Unapt the passing view to meet, 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. 20 

Oft, in the sunless April day, 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk^ 

But ^midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 25 

The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 

Awakes the painted tribes of light, 30 

I'll not overlook the modest flower 

That made the woods of April bright. 



°INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A 
WOOD 

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs 
No school of long experience, that the world 
Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen 
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, 
To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood 5 

And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade 



6 EARLIER POEMS 

Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze 

That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm 

To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here 

Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men lo 

And made thee loathe thy life. The °primal curse 

Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, 

But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to Guilt 

Her pale tormentor, Misery. Hence, these shades' 

Are still the abodes of gladness ; the thick roof 15 

Of green and stirring branches is alive 

And musical with birds, that sing and sport 

In "wantonness of spirit ; while below 

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, 

Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade 20 

Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam 

That waked them into life. Even the green trees 

Partake the deep contentment ; as they bend 

To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky 

Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. 25 

Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 

Existence, than the winged plunderer 

That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, 

And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees 

That lead from knoll to knoll a °causey rude 3° 

Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots. 

With all their earth upon them, twisting high. 

Breathe °fixed tranquillity. The rivulet 

Sends forth glad sounds, and "tripping o'er its bed 

Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, 35 

Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice 



SONG 7 

In its own being. Softly' tread the marge, 

Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren 

That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, 

That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, 40 

Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass 

Ungreeted, and shall give it slight embrace. 



SONG 

Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow 
Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear, 

The hunter of the west must go 
In depth of woods to seek the deer. 

His rifle on his shoulder placed. 

His stores of death arranged with skill, 

His moccasins and snow-shoes laced, — 
Why lingers he beside the hill ? 

Far, in the dim and doubtful light. 
Where woody slopes a valley leave, 

He sees what none but lover might, 
The dwelling of his Genevieve. 

And oft he turns his truant eye. 
And pauses oft, and lingers near; 

But when he marks the reddening sky, 
He bounds away to hunt the deer. 



EARLIER POEMS 



°T0 A WATERFOWL 

The soft and exquisite beauty of the lines entitled " To a Waterfowl " 
is appreciated by every reader of taste. They belong to that rare class 
of poems ivhich, once read, haunt the imagination ivith a perpetual 
charm. —Harper's Neio Monthly Magazine for April, 1851. 

Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the °last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 5 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
°As, darkly s.g£ii against the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the °plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or °marge of river wide, 10 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and °illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 



GREEN RIVER 9 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the °abyss of heaven 25 

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 



GREEN RIVER 

When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
I steal an hour from study and care, 
And °hie me away to the woodland scene, 
Where wanders the stream with waters of green ; 
As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink, 
Had given their stain to the wave they drink; 
And they, whose meadows it murmurs through, 
Hav^ named the stream from its own fair hue. 

Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
With colored pebbles and sparkles of light. 



10 EARLIER POEMS 

And clear the depths where its eddies play^ 

And dimples deepen and whirl away, 

And the °plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot ' 

The swifter current that mines its root, 

Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill, 15 

The quivering glimmer of sun and rill. 

With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown. 

Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone. 

Oh, loveliest there the spring days come. 

With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum; 20 

The flowers of summer are fairest there. 

And freshest the breath of the summer air; 

And sweetest the golden autumn day- 

In silence and sunshine glides away. 

Yet fair as thou art, thou shun'st to glide, 25 

Beautiful stream ! by the village side ; 
But windest away from haunts of men, 
To quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill. 
Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. 30 

Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides, 
From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
Or the °simpler comes with basket and book, 
For herbs of power on thy banks to look; 
Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me, 35 

To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. 
Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
On the °river-cherry and seedy reed. 
And thy own wild music gushing out 



GREEN RIVER 11 

With mellow murmur and fairy shout, 40 

From dawn to the blush of another day, 
Like traveller singing along his way. 

That fairy music I never hear, 
Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, 
And mark them winding away from sight, 45 

Darkened with shade or flashing with light. 
While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings, 
And the zephyr stoops to freshen his wings. 
But I wish that fate had left me free 
To wander these quiet haunts with thee, so 

Till the eating cares of earth should depart. 
And the peace of the scene pass into my heart; 
But I envy thy stream, as it glides along. 
Through its beautiful banks in a trance of song. 

°Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, 55 
And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, 
And mingle among the jostling crowd. 
Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud — 
I often come to this quiet place, 

To breathe the airs that 'ruffle thy face, 60 

And gaze upon thee in silent dream. 
For in thy lonely and lovely stream, 
An image of that calm life appears, 
That won my heart in my greener years. 



12 EARLIER POEMS 



°A WINTER PIECE 

The time has been that these wild solitudes, 
Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me 
Of tener than now ; and when the ills of life 
Had chafed my spirit — when the unsteady pulse 
Beat with strange flutterings — I would wander forth 5 
And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path 
Was, to me as a friend. The swelling hills, 
The quiet dells retiring far between, 
With gentle invitation to explore 

Their windings, were a calm society 10 

That talked with me and soothed me. Then the chant 
Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress 
Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget 
The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began 
To gather °simples by the fountain's brink, 15 

And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood 
In nature's loneliness, I was with one 
With whom I early grew familiar, one 
Who never had a frown for me, whose voice 
Never rebuked me for the hours I stole 20 

From cares I loved not, but of which the world 
Deems highest, to converse with her. When shrieked 
The bleak November winds, and smote the woods. 



A WINTER PIECE 13 

And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades. 
That met above the merry rivulet, 25 

Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still, — they 

seemed 
Like old companions in adversity. 
Still there was beauty in my walks ; the brook. 
Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay 
As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar, 30 

The village with its spires, the path of streams, 
And dim receding valleys, hid before 
By °interposing trees, lay visible 
Through the bare grove, and my familiar haunts 
Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come 35 

Among them, when the clouds, from their still skirts. 
Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow. 
And all was white. The pure keen air abroad. 
Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard 
Love-call of bird nor merry hum of bee, 40 

Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept 
Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds, 
That lay along the boughs, instinct with life. 
Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Spring, 
Feared not the piercing spirit of the North. 45 

The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough, 
And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches bent 
Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept dry. 
A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves. 
The partridge found a shelter. Through the snow 50 
The rabbit sprang away. The lighter track 
Of fox, and the raccoon's broad path, were there. 



14 EARLIER POEMS 

Crossing each other. From his hollow tree, 

The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts 

J-ust fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway 55 

Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold. 

But Winter has yet brighter scenes, — he boasts 
Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows ; 
Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods 
All flushed with many hues. Come when the rains 60 
Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice ; 
While the slant sun of February pours 
Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach ! 
The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps, 
And the broad arching portals of the grove 65 

Welcome thy entering. Look ! the massy trunks 
Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray. 
Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven. 
Is studded with its trembling water-drops. 
That stream with rainbow radiance as they move. 70 
But round the parent stem the long low boughs 
Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbors hide 
The glassy floor. Oh ! 3^ou might deem the spot 
The spacious cavern of some °virgin mine. 
Deep in the womb of earth — where the gems grow, 75 
And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud 
With amethyst and topaz — and the place 
Lit up, most royally, with the pure beam 
That dwells in them. Or haply the vast hall 
Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night, 80 

And fades not in the glory of the sun ; — 



A WINTER PIECE 15 

Where crystal columns send forth slender shafts 

And crossing arches; and fantastic aisles 

Wind from the sight in brightness, and are lost 

Among the crowded pillars. Raise thine eyes, — 85 

Thou seest no cavern roof , no palace vault ; 

There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud 

Look in. Again the °wildered fancy dreams 

Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose, 

And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air, 90 

And all their °sluices sealed. All, all is light; 

Light without shade. But all shall pass away 

With the next sun. From numberless vast trunks, 

Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound 

Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve 95 

Shall close o'er the brown woods as it was wont. 

And it is pleasant, when the noisy streams 
Are just set free, and milder suns melt off 
The plashy snow, save only the firm drift 
In the deep glen or the close shade of pines, — 100 

Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke 
Roll up among the maples of the hill, 
Where the shrill sound of youthful voices wakes 
The shriller echo, as the clear pure °lymph, 
That from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops, 105 
Falls, mid the golden brightness of the morn, 
Is gathered in with brimming pails, and oft, 
Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe 
Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air, 
Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds, no 



16 EARLIER POEMS 

Such as you see in summer, and the winds 

Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft, 

Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone 

The little °wind-flower, whose just opened eye 

Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at — 115 

Startling the loiterer in the naked groves 

With unexpected beauty, for the time 

Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. 

And ere it comes, the 'encountering winds shall oft 

Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds 120 

Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth 

Shall fall their volleyed stores rounded like hail, 

And white like snow, and the loud North again 

Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage. 



°" BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN 

Oh, °deem not they are blest alone 
Whose lives a peaceful °tenor keep; 

The Power who pities man, has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 



The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 



''NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEP ULCERE '' 17 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night; lo 

And grief may bide, an evening guest, 

But joy shall come with early light. 

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low °bier 
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere, 15 

Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart, 
Though life its common gifts deny. 

Though with a pierced and broken heart, 

And spurned of men, he goes to die. 20 



For God has marked each sorrowing day, 
And numbered every secret tear. 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 



°"N0 MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE" 

When he, who, from the scourge of wrong, 
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly, 

Saw the fair region, promised long, 
And bowed him on the hills to die ; 



18 EARLIER POEMS 

God made his grave, to men unknown, 5 

Where °Moab's rocks a vale infold, 

And laid the aged seer alone 

To slumber while the world grows old. 

Thus still, whene'er the good and just 

Close the dim eye on life and pain, lo 

Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust, 
Till the pure spirit comes again. 

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot. 

His servant's humble ashes lie. 
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot, 15 

To call its inmate to the sky. 



HYMN TO DEATH 19 



HYMN TO DEATH 

Oh ! could I hope the wise and pure in heart 

Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem 

My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, — 

I would take up the hymn to Death, and say 

To the grim power. The world hath slandered thee 

And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow 

They place an iron crown, and call thee king 

Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world, 

Deadly assassin, that strik'st down the fair. 

The loved, the good — that breathest on the lights 

Of virtue set along the vale of life. 

And they go out in darkness. I am come, 

Not with reproaches, not with cries and prayers, 

Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear 

From the beginning. I am come to speak 

Thy praises. °True it is, that I have wept 

Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again : 

And thou from some I love wilt take a life 

Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell 

Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee 

In sight of all thy trophies, face to face. 

Meet is it that my voice should utter forth 

Thy nobler triumph; I will teach the world 



20 EARLIER POEMS 

To thank thee, — Who are thine accusers ? — Who ? 
The hving ! — they who never felt thy power, 25 

And know thee not. The curses of the wretch 
Whose crimes are °ripe, his sufferings when thy hand 
Is on him, and the hour he dreads is some, 
Are writ among thy praises. But the good — 
Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace, 30 

Upbraid the gentle violence that took off 
His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell ? 

Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer ! 
God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed 
And crush the oppressor. When the armed chief, 35 
The conqueror of nations, walks the world, 
And it is changed beneath his feet, and all 
Its kingdoms melt into one mighty realm — 
Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart 
Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand 40 

Almighty, thou dost set thy sudden grasp ' 

Upon him, and the links of that strong chain 
That bound mankind are crumbled ; thou dost break 
Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust. 
Then the earth shouts with gladness, and her tribes 45 
Gather within their ancient bounds again. 
Else had the mighty of the olden time, 
°Nimrod, °Sesostris, or °the youth who feigned 
His birth from Libyan Ammon, smitten yet 
The nations with a rod of iron, and driven 50 

Their chariot o'er our necks. Thou dost avenge, 
In thy good time, the wrongs of those who know 



HYMN TO DEATH 21 

No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose 

Only to lay the sufferer asleep, 

Where he who made him wretched troubles not 55 

His rest — thou dost strike down his tyrant too. 

Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge 

Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. 

Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible 

And old idolatries ; — from the proud °f anes 60 

Each to his grave their priests go out, till none 

Is left to teach their worship ; then the fires 

Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss 

O'ercreeps their altars ; the fallen images 

Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, 65 

Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind 

Shrieks in the solitary aisles. When he ♦ 

Who gives his life to guilt, and laughs at all 

The laws that God or man has made, and round 

Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth, — 70 

Lifts up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven, 

And celebrates his shame in open day. 

Thou, in the pride of all his crimes, cutt'st off 

The horrible example. Touched by thine. 

The °extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold 75 

Wrung from the o'er-worn poor. The °perjurer, 

Whose tongue was °lithe, e'en now, and ° voluble 

Against his neighbor's life, and he who laughed 

And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame 

Blasted before his own foul °calumnies, 80 

Are smit with deadly silence. He, who sold 

His conscience to preserve a worthless life, 



22 EARLIER POEMS 

Even while he hugs himself on his escape, 

Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length. 

Thy steps overtake him, and there is no time 85 

For parley — nor will bribes unclench thy grasp. ■ 

Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long 

Ere his last hour. And when the reveller, 

Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on, j 

And strains each nerve, and clears the path of life 90 1 

Like wind, thou point 'st him to the dreadful goal, 

And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye. 

And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton hand 

Shows to the faint of spirit the right path, 

And he is warned, and fears to step aside. 95) 

Thou sett'st between the ruffian and his crime j 

Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand j 

Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully I 

Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, wiien thy shafts 

Drink up the ebbing spirit — then the hard 100 

Of heart and violent of hand restores 1 

The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. ] 

Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck I 

The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed. 

Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length, . 105 ■ 

And give it up ; the °felon's latest breath j 

Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime ; | 

The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, \ 

Recalls the deadly °obloquy he forged 

To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make no^ 

Thy penitent victim utter to the air 

The dark conspiracy that strikes at life, 



HYMN TO DEATH 23 

And aims to °whelm the laws ; ere yet the hour 
Is come, and the dread sign of murder given. 

Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found 115 
On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee. 
Had been too strong for the good ; the great of earth 
Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile 
For ages, while each passing year had brought 
Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world 120 

With their abominations ; while its tribes. 
Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled, 
Had knelt to them in worship ; sacrifice 
Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs 
Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn : 125 
But thou, the great reformer of the world, 
Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud 
In their °green pupilage, their lore half learned — 
Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart 
God gave them at their birth, and blotted out 130 

His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with hope. 
As on the threshold of their vast designs 
Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them down. 



Alas ! I little thought that the stern power 
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus 
Before the strain was ended. It must cease — 
For °he is in his grave who taught my youth 
The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off 



135 



24 EARLIER POEMS 

°Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength, 140 

Ripened by years of toil and studious search, 

And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught 

Thy hand to practise best the lenient art 

To which thou gavest thy laborious days, 

And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth 145 

Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes 

And on hard cheeks, and they who °deemed °thy skill 

Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale 

When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou 

Shalt not, as wont, overlook, is all I have 150 

To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope 

To copy thy example, and to leave 

A name of which the wretched shall not think 

As of an enemy's, whom they forgive 

As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou 15s 

Whose early guidance trained my infant steps — 

Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep 

Of death is over, and a happier life 

Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust. 

Now thou art not — and yet the men whose guilt 160 
Has wearied Heaven for vengeance — he who bears 
False .witness — he who takes the orphan's bread. 
And robs the widow — he who spreads abroad 
Polluted hands of mockery of prayer. 
Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look 165 

On what is written, yet I blot not out 
The °desultory numbers — let them stand, 
The record of an idle revery. 



THE AGES ' 25 



' °THE AGES 

In this poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, the author 
has endeavored, from a survey of the past ages of the world, and of the 
successive advances of mankind in knowledge, virtue, and happiness, 
to justify and confirm the hopes of the philanthropist for the future 
destinies of the human race. — William Cullen Bryant. 



When to the common rest that crowns our days, 
Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, 
Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays 
His silver temples in their last repose; 
When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, 5 
And blights the fairest ; when our bitter tears 
Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close. 
We think on what they were, with many fears 
Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years. 

II 

And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by, — 10 
. When lived the honored sage whose death we wept, 
And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, 
And beat in many a heart that long has slept, — 
Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped — 
Are holy ; and high-dreaming bards have told 15 



26 ' EARLIER POEMS 

Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was 

kept, 
Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold — 
Those pure and happy times — the golden days of old. 



in 

Peace to the just man's memory, — let it grow 
Greener with years, and blossom through the flight 20 
Of ages; let the °mimic canvas show 
His calm benevolent features ; let the light 
Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight 
Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame. 
The glorious record of his virtues write, 25 

And hold it up to men, and bid them claim 
°A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. 



IV 

But oh, despair not of their fate who rise 
To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw ! 
Lo ! the same shaft by w^hich the righteous dies, 30 
Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at mercy's law, 
And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe 
Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth. 
Such as the sternest age of virtue saw, 
Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth 35 

From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. 



THE AGES 21 



Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march 
Faltered with age at last ? does the bright sun 
Grow dim in heaven ? or, in their far blue arch, 
Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, 40 

Less brightly ? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on, 
Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky 
With flowers less fair than when her reign begun ? 
Does °prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny 
The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye ? 45 



VI 

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth 
In her fair page ; see, every season brings 
New change, to her, of everlasting youth; 
Still the green soil, with joyous living things, 
Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, 50 

And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep 
Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings 
The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep 
In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep* 



VII 

Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race 55 
With his own image, and who gave them sway 
O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face. 
Now that our swarming nations far away 



28 EARLIER POEMS 

Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, 
Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed 60 
His latest offspring ? will he quench the ray 
Infused by his own forming smile at first, 
And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed? 

VIII 

Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give 
Hope of yet happier days, whose dawn is nigh. 65 

He who has tamed the elements, shall not live 
The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye 
°Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky, 
And in the abyss of brightness dares to span 
The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high, 70 

In God's magnificent works his will shall scan — • 
And love and peace shall make their paradise with man. 

IX 

Sit at the feet of history — through the night 
Of years the steps of virtue she shall trace, 
And show the earlier ages, where her sight 75 

Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their face ; — 
When, from the genial cradle of our race. 
Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot 
To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling- 
place, 
Or freshening rivers ran; and there forgot 80 

The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard 
them not. 



THE AGES 29 



Then waited not the murderer for the night , 
But smote his brother down in the bright day, 
And he who felt the wrong, and had the might, 
His own avenger, girt himself to slay ; 85 

Beside the path the unburied carcass lay; 
The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen, 
Fled, while the robber swept his flock away, 
And slew his babes. The sick, untended then, 
Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from 
men. 90 

XI 

But misery brought in love — in passion's strife 
Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long. 
And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life ; 
The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong. 
Banded, and watched their hamlets, and grew strong. 95 
States rose, and, in the shadow of their might, 
The timid rested. To the °reverent throng. 
Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all white. 
Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the way 
of right ; 

XII 

Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailed 100 

On men the yoke that man should never bear. 
And drove them forth to battle. Lo ! unveiled 
The scene of those stern ages ! What is there ! 
A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air 



30 EARLIER POEMS 

Moans with the crimson surges that entomb 105 

Cities and bannered armies ; forms that wear 
The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom, 
O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its 
womb. 

XIII 

°Those ages have no memory — but they left 
A record in the desert — columns strown no 

On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft, 
Heaped like a host in battle overthrown; 
Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone 
Were hewn into a city ; streets that spread 
In the dark earth, where never breath has blown 115 
Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread , 
The long and perilous ways — the Cities of the Dead : 



XIV 

°And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled — 
They perished — but the eternal tombs remain — 
And the black precipice, abrupt and wild, 120 

Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a °fane ; — 
Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain 
The everlasting arches, dark and wide, 
Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with 

rain. 
But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied, 125 
All was the work of slaves to swell a despot's pride. 



THE AGES 31 



XV 



And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign 
O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke; 
She left the down-trod nations in disdain, 
And flew to Greece, when Liberty awoke, 130 

New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke 
Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands : 
As rocks are shivered in the thunder-stroke. 
And lo ! in full-grown strength, an empire stands 
Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands. 135 



XVI 

°0h, Greece ! thy flourishing cities were a spoil 
Unto each other; thy hard hand oppressed 
And crushed the helpless ; thou didst make thy soil 
Drunk with the blood of those that loved thee best ; 
And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast, 140 
Thy just and brave to die in distant climes; 
Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest 
From thine abominations ; after times. 
That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes. 

XVII 

Yet there was that within thee which has saved 145 

Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name ; 

The story of thy better deeds, engraved 

On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to shame 

Our chiller virtue; the high art to tame 



32 EARLIER POEMS 

The whirlwind of the passions was thine own; 150 1 

And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came, 
Far over many a land and age has shone, ^ 

And mingles with the light that beams from God's own 
throne. 

XVIII i 

And Rome — thy sterner, younger sister, she 

Who awed the world with her imperial frown — 155 

Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee, — 

The' rival of thy shame and thy renown. 

Yet her degenerate children sold the crown 

Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves ; 

Guilt reigned, and woe with guilt, and plagues came 

down, 160 

°Till the north broke its floodgates, and the waves 
Whelmed the degraded race, and °weltered o'er their 

graves. 

XIX 

°Vainly that ray of brightness from above. 
That shone around the Galilean lake. 
The light of hope, the leading star of love, 165 

Struggled, the darkness of that day to break; 
Even its own faithless guardians strove to slake, 
In fogs of earth, the pure immortal flame ; 
And priestly hands, for Jesus' blessed sake. 
Were red with blood, and charity became, 170 

In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name. 



THE AGES 33 



XX 



They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept 
Within the quiet of the convent cell ; 
The well-fed inmates °pattered prayer, and slept, 
And sinned, and liked their easy penance well. 175 

Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell. 
Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay, 
Sheltering dark °orgies that were shame to tell, 
And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way, 
11 in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and 
gray. . 180 

XXI 

Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain 
Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle tide 
In their bright lap the °Etrurian vales detain, 
Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to chide. 
And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide, 185 
Send out wild hj^mns upon the scented air. 
Lo ! to the smiling °Arno's classic side 
The °emulous nations of the west repair, 
^nd kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh spirit 
there. 

XXII 

Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend 190 
From saintly rottenness the sacred °stole ; 
And cowl and worshipped shrine could still defend 
The wretch with felon stains upon his soul; 



34 EARLIER POEMS 

And crimes were set to sale, and hard his °dole 
Who could not bribe a passage to the skies; 195 

And vice, beneath the °mitre's kind control, 
Sinned gayly on, and drew to giant size. 
Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestll 



XXIII 



°At last the earthquake came — the shock, that hurle 
To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown, 2c 
The throne, whose roots were in another world, 
And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own. 
From many a proud monastic pile, overthrown. 
Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled; 
The web, that for a thousand years had grown 2c 
O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread 
Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread. 

XXIV 

The spirit of that day is still awake, 
And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again; 
But through the idle mesh of power shall break 2 
Like billows o'er the °Asian monarch's chain; 
Till men are filled with him, and feel how vain, 
Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands. 
Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain 
The smile of heaven ; . — till a new age expands 2 
Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands. 



THE AGES ^b 

' XXV 

For look again on the past years ; — behold, 
How like the nightmare's dreams have flown away 
Horrible forms of worship, that, of old, 
Held, o'er the shuddering realms, unquestioned sway : 220 
See crimes, that feared not once the eye of day. 
Rooted from men, without a name or place : 
See nations blotted out from earth, to pay 
The forfeit of deep guilt ; — with glad embrace 
The fair disburdened lands welcome a nobler race. 225 

XXVI 

Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven ; 
They fade, they fly — but truth survives their flight ; 
Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven ; 
Each ray that shone, in early time, to light 
The faltering footsteps in the path of right, 230 

Each gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid 
In man's maturer day his bolder sight. 
All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid, 
Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade. 

XXVII 

Late, from this western shore, that morning chased 235 
The deep and °ancient night, that threw its shroud 
O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste. 
Nurse of full streams, and lifter-up of proud 
Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud. 



36 EARLIER POEMS 

Ere while, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, 24. 
Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud 
Amid the forest; and the bounding deer 
Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yellec 
near. 

XXVIII 

And where his willing waves °yon bright blue bay 
Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim, 241 

And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay 
Young group of grassy islands born of him. 
And crowding nigh, or in the distance dim, 
Lift the white throng of sails, that bear or bring 
The commerce of the world ; — with °tawny limb. 
And belt and beads in sunlight glistening. 
The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. 



XXIX 

Then all this youthful paradise around. 
And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay 
Cooled by the ^interminable wood, that frowned 25; 
O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray 
Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way 
Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; 
Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay. 
Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, 26( 

Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest srniled. 



THE AGES 37 



XXX 



There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake 
Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many an oar, 
Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake, 
And the deer, drank: as the light gale flew o'er, 265 
The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore; 
And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, 
A look of glad and guiltless beauty wore. 
And peace was on the earth and in the air, 
The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there : 270 

XXXI 

Not unavenged — the foeman, from the wood, 
Beheld the deed, and when the midnight shade 
Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood ; 
All die — the wailing babe — the shrieking maid — 
And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade, 275 
The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew, 
When on the dewy woods the day-beam played; 
No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, 
And ever, by their lake, lay moored the light canoe. 

XXXII 

Look now abroad — another race has filled 280 

These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, 
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled : 
The land is full of harvests and green meads ; 
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, 



38 EARLIER POEMS 

Shine, °disembowered, and give to sun and breeze 285 
Their virgin waters ; the full region leads 
New colonies forth, that toward the western seas 
Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees. 



XXXIII 

Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, 
Throws its last fetters off; and who shall place 290 
A limit to the giant's unchained strength. 
Or curb his swiftness in the forward race \ 
Far, like the comet's way through infinite space. 
Stretches the long untravelled path of light, 
Into the depths of ages : we may trace, 295 

Distant, the brightening glory of its flight. 
Till the receding rays are lost to human sight. 



XXXIV ; 

Europe is given a prey to sterner fates. 
And writhes in shackles; strong the arms that chain 
To earth her struggling multitude of states ; 300 

She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain 
Against them, but might cast to earth the train 
That trample her, and break their iron net. 
Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain 
The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set 305 

To rescue and raise up, draws near — but is not yet. 



ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION 39 
XXXV 

But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, 
Save with thy children — thy maternal care, 
Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all — 
These are thy fetters — seas and stormy air 310 

Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where, 
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well, 
Thou laugh'st at enemies : who shall then declare 
The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell 
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell ? 315 



°ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION 

Far back in the ages, 

The plough with wreaths was crowned ; 
The hands of kings and °sages 

Entwined the chaplet round; 
Till men of spoil disdained the toil 5 

By which the world was nourished, 
And dews of blood enriched the soil ■ 

Where green their °laurels flourished. 
— Now the world her fault repairs — 

The guilt that stains her story ; 10 

And weeps her crimes amid the cares 

That formed her earliest glory. 

The proud throne shall crumble, 
The °diadem shall wane, 



40 EARLIER POEMS 

The tribes of earth shall humble 15 

The pride of those who reign; 
And War shall lay his pomp away ; — 

The fame that heroes cherish, 
The glory earned in deadly fray 

Shall fade, decay, and perish. 20 

Honor waits, o'er all the earth. 

Through endless generations. 
The art that calls her harvest forth. 

And feeds the expectant nations. 



THE RIVULET 41 



°THE RIVULET 

There is a charming tenderness and simplicity in the little piece 
called " The Rivulet,'^ that every reader, at all conversant with rural 
sights and associations, sympathizes with instantly. — American Quar- 
terly Review for December, 1836. 

This little rill, that from the springs 
Of yonder grove its current brings, 
Plays on the slope a while, and then 
Goes prattling into groves again, 
Oft to its warbling waters drew , 5 

My little feet, when life was new. 
When woods in early green were dressed, 
And from the chambers of the west 
The warmer breezes, travelling out, 
Breathed the new scent of flowers about, lo 

My truant steps from home would stray, 
Upon its grassy side to play. 
List the brown thrasher's °vernal hymn, 
And crop the violet on its brim. 
With blooming cheek and open brow, is 

As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou. 

And when the days of boyhood came, 
And I had grown in love with fame, 
°Duly I sought thy banks, and tried 



42 EARLIER POEMS 

My first rude numbers by thy side. 20 

Words cannot tell how bright and gay 

The scenes of life before me lay. 

Then glorious hopeS; that now to speak 

Would bring the blood into my cheek, 

Passed o'er me; and I wrote, on high, 25 

A name I deemed should never die. 

Years change thee not. Upon yon hill 
The tall old maples, verdant still. 
Yet tell, in grandeur of decay. 
How swift the years have passed away. 30 

Since first, a child, and half afraid, 
I wandered in the forest shade. 
Thou ever joyous rivulet. 
Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet; 
And sporting with the sands that pave zs 

The windings of thy silver wave. 
And dancing to thy own wild chime. 
Thou laughest at the lapse of time. 
The same sweet sounds are in my ear 
My early childhood loved to hear; 40 

As pure thy limpid waters run. 
As bright they sparkle to the sun; 
As fresh and thick the bending ranks 
Of herbs that line thy oozy banks ; 
The violet there, in soft May dew, 45 

Comes up, as modest and as blue. 
As green amid thy current's stress, 
Floats the scarce-rooted watercress ; 



THE RIVULET 43 



And the brown °ground-bird, in thy glen, 
Still chirps as merrily as then. 



5° 



Thou changest not — but I am changed, 
Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged ; 
And the grave stranger, come to see 
The play-place of his infancy, 
Has scarce a single trace of him 55 

Who sported once upon thy brim. 
The visions of my youth are past — 
Too bright, too beautiful to last. 
I've tried the world — it wears no more 
The coloring of romance it wore. 60 

Yet well has Nature kept the truth 
She promised to my earliest youth. 
The radiant beauty shed abroad 
On all the glorious works of God, 
Shows freshly, to my sobered eye, 65 

Each charm it wore in days gone by. 

A few brief years shall pass away, 
And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, 
Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold 
My ashes in the embracing mould, 70 

(If haply the dark will of fate 
Indulge my life so long a date,) 
May come for the last time to look 
Upon my childhood's favorite brook. 
Then dimly on my eye shall gleam 75 

The sparkle of thy dancing stream; 



EARLIER POEMS 

And faintly on my ear shall fall 

Thy prattling current's merry call; 

Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright 

As when thou met'st my infant sight. 80 

And I shall sleep — and on thy side, 
As ages after ages glide , 
Children their early sports shall try, • 
And pass to hoary age and die. 
But thou, unchanged from year to year, 85 

Gayly shalt play and glitter here; 
Amid young flowers and tender grass 
Thy endless infancy shalt pass ; 
And, singing down thy narrow glen, 
Shalt mock the fading race of men. 90 



MARCH 

The stormy March is come at last, 

With wind, and cloud, and changing skies. 

I hear the rushing of the blast, 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah, °passing few are they who speak, ' 
Wild stormy month ! \\\ praise of thee; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak. 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 



SUMMER WIND 45 

°For thou, to northern lands, again 

The glad and glorious sun dost bring, lo 

And thou hast joined the gentle train 

And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm. 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day. 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 15 

And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills 

And the full springs, from frost set free, 

That, brightly leaping down the hills, 

Are just set out to meet the sea. 20 

The year's departing beauty hides 

Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 
But in thy sternest frown abides 

A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, 25 

And that soft time of sunny showers. 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 



SUMMER WIND 

It is a sultry day ; the sun has drunk 
The dew that lay upon the morning grass; 
There is no rustling in the lofty elm 



46 EARLIER POEMS 

That canopies my dwelling, and its shade 

Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint 5 

And interrupted murmur of the bee, 

Settling on the sick flowers, and then again 

Instantly on the wing. The plants around 

Feel the too °potent fervors : the tall maize 

Rolls up its long green leaves ; the clover droops lo 

Its tender foliage, and "declines its blooms. 

But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills, 

With all their growth of woods, silent and stern, 

As if the scorching heat and dazzling light 

Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds, 15 

Motionless pillars of the °brazen heaven — - 

Their bases on the mountains — their white tops 

Shining in the far ether — fire the air 

With a reflected radiance, and make turn 

The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie 20 

Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf, 

Yet °virgin from the kisses of the sun. 

Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind 

That still delays its coming. Why so slow, 

Gentle and °voluble spirit of the air ? 25 

Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth 

Coolness and life. °Is it that in his caves 

He hears me ? See, on yonder woody ridge, 

The pine is bending his proud top, and now 

Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak 30 

Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes ; 

Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in waves ! 

The deep distressful silence of the scene 



"/ BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG'' 47 

Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds 

And universal motion. He is come, 35 

Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, 

And bearing on their fragrance; and he brings 

Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs, 

And sound of swaying branches, and the voice 

Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs " 40 

Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers, 

By the road-side and the borders of the brook, 

Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves 

Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew 

Were on them yet, and silver waters break 45 

Into small waves and sparkle as he comes. 



I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG" 

I BROKE the spell that held me long, 

The dear, dear °witchery of song. 

I said, the poet's idle °lore 

Shall waste my prime of years no more, 

For Poetry, though heavenly born, S 

°Consorts with poverty and scorn. 

I broke the spell — nor °deemed its power 

Could fetter me another hour. 

Ah, thoughtless ! how could I forget 

Its causes were around me yet ? 10 

For wheresoever I looked, the while, 

Was nature's everlasting smile. 



48 EARLIER POEMS 

Still came and lingered on my sight 

Of flowers and streams the bloom and light, 

And glory of the stars and sun ; — 

And these and poetry are one. 

They, ere the world had held me Jong, 

Recalled me to the love of song. 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN 49 



^MONUMENT MOUNTAIN 

The mountain, called by this name, is a remarkable precipice in 
Great Barrington, overlooking the rich and picturesque valley of the 

\Housatonic, in the western part of Massachusetts. At the southern 
extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical pile of small stones, 
erected, according to the tradition of the surrounding country, by the 
Indians, in memory of a woman of the Stockbridge tribe, loho killed 
herself by leaping from the edge of the precipice. U^itil within a few 
years past, small parties of that tribe used to arrive from their settle- 

I ment iii the loestern part of the state of Nevj York, on visits to Stock- 
bridge, the place of their nativity and former residence. A young 
woman belonging to one of these parties related, to a friend of the 
author, the story on which the poem of " Monument Mountain " is 

founded. Aji Indian girl had formed an attachment for her cousin, 
ivhich, according to the customs of the tribe, ivas unlawful. She vms, in 
consequence, seized loith a deep melancholy , and resolved to destroy her- 
self. In company with a female friend, she repaired to the mountain, 
decked out for the occasion in all her ornaments, and, after passing 
the day on the summit in singing with her companioii the traditional 
songs of her nation, she threw herself headlong from the rock, and loas 
killed. — William Cullen Bryant. 

Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild 
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, 
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot 
Fail not with weariness, for on their tops 
The beauty and the majesty of earth, 5 

Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget 
The steep and toilsome way. There, as thou stand'st, 



50 EARLIER POEMS 

The haunts of men below thee, and around 

The mountain summits, thy expanding heart 

Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world lo 

To which thou art translated, and partake 

The enlargement of thy vision. Thou shalt look 

Upon the green and rolling forest tops, 

And down into the secrets of the glens. 

And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive 15 

To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze, at once, 

Here on white villages, and °tilth, and herds. 

And swarming roads, and there on solitudes 

That only hear the torrent, and the wind, 

And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice 20 

That seems a fragment of some mighty wall, 

Built by the hand that fashioned the old world, 

To separate its nations, and thrown down 

When the flood drowned them. To the north, a path 

Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 25 

Steep is the western side, shaggy and wild 

With mossy trees, and °pinnacles of flint. 

And many a hanging crag. But, to the east, 

Sheer to the vale go down the bare old cliffs, — 

Huge pillars, that in °middle heaven upbear 30 

Their weather-beaten °capitals, here dark 

With the thick moss of centuries, and there 

Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt 

Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing 

To stand upon the °beetling verge, and see 35 

Where storm and lightning, from that huge gray wall, 

Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN 51 

Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear 

Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 

Of winds, that struggle with the woods below, 40 

Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene 

Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there 

Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads, 

The paradise he made unto himself. 

Mining the soil for ages. On each side 45 

The fields swell upward to the hills; beyond, 

Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise 

The mighty columns with which earth props heaven. 

There is a tale about these °reverend rocks, 
A sad tradition of unhappy love, 50 

And sorrows borne and ended, long ago. 
When over these fair vales the savage sought 
His game in the thick woods. There was a maid, 
The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed, 
With wealth of raven tresses, a light form, 55 

And a gay heart. About her cabin-door 
The wide old woods resounded with her song 
And fairy laughter all the summer day. 
She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, 
By the morality of those stern tribes, 60 

Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long 
Against her love, and reasoned with her heart, 
As simple Indian maiden might. In vain. 
Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step 
Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that passed 65 
Her dwelling, wondered that they heard no more 



52 EARLIER POEMS 

The accustomed song and laugh of her, whose looks 

Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, they said^ 

Upon the Winter of their age. She went 

To weep where no eye saw, ar^d was not found 70 

When all the merry girls were met to dance, 

And all the hunters of the tribe were out; 

Nor when they gathered from the rustling husk 

The shining ear; nor when, by the river's side. 

They pulled the grape and startled the wild shades 75 

With sounds of mirth. The keen-eyed Indian dames 

Would whisper to each other, as they saw 

Her wasting form, and say the girl ivill die. 

One day into the bosom of a friend, 
A playmate of her young and innocent years, 80 

She poured her griefs. "Thou know'st, and thou 

alone," 
She said, " for I have told thee, all my love, 
And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life. 
All night I weep in darkness, and the morn 
Glares on me, as upon a thing accursed, 85 

That has no business on the earth. I hate 
The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once 
I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends 
Have an unnatural horror in mine ear. 
In dreams my mother, from the land of souls, 90 

Calls me and chides me. All that look on me 
Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear 
Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root out 
The love that wrings it so, and I must die." 



MONUMENT MOUNTAIN ' 53 

It was a summer morning, and they went 95 

To this old precipice. About the cHffs 
Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins 
Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe 
Here made to the Great Spirit, for they °deemed, 
°Like worshippers of the elder time, that God 100 

Doth walk on the high places and °affect 
The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on 
The ornaments with which her father loved 
To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl, 
And bade her wear when stranger warriors came 105 

To be his guests. Here the friends sat them down, 
And sang, all day, old songs of love and death. 
And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers, 
And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 
To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief no 

Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red. 
Beautiful lay the region of her tribe 
Below her — waters resting in the embrace 
Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades 
Opening amid the leafy wilderness. 115 

She gazed upon it long, and at the sight 
Of her own village peeping through the trees, 
And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof 
Of him she loved with an unlawful love, 
And came to die for, a warm gush of tears 120 

Ran from her eyes. But when the sun grew low 
And the hill shadows long, she threw herself 
From the steep rock and perished. There was scooped 
Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave; 



54 EARLIER POEMS 

And there they laid her, in the very garb 125 

With which the maiden decked herself for death, 

With the same withering wild flowers in her hair. 

And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe 

Built up a simple monument, a cone 

Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who passed, 130 

Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone 

In silence on the pile. It stands there yet. 

And Indians from the distant West, who come 

To visit where their fathers' bones are laid. 

Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day 135 

The mountain where the °hapless maiden died 

Is called the Mountain of the Monument. 



°SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON 

I BUCKLE to my slender side 

The pistol and the °scimitar, 
And in my maiden °flower and pride 

Am come to share the tasks of war. 
And yonder stands my fiery steed. 

That paws the ground and neighs to go, 
My charger of the Arab breed — 

I took him from the routed foe. 

My mirror is the mountain-spring. 
At which I dress my ruffled hair; 

My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, 
And wash away the blood-stain there. 



TO A CLOUD 55 

Why should I guard from wind and sun 
This cheek, whose °virgin rose is fled ? 

It was for one — oh, only one — 15 

I kept its bloorn, and he is dead. 

But they who slew him — unaware 

Of coward murderers lurking nigh — 
And left him to the fowls of air, 

Are yet alive — and they must die ! 20 

They slew him — and my °virgin years 

Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now, 
And many an °Othman dame, in tears, 

Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow. 

I touched the °lute in better days, 25 

I led in dance the joyous band; 
Ah ! they may move to mirthful lays 

Whose hands can touch a lover's hand. 
The march of hosts that haste to meet 

Seems gayer than the dance to me; 30 

The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet 

As the fierce shout of victory, 

°T0 A CLOUD 

Beautiful cloud ! with folds so soft and fair. 

Swimming in the pure quiet air ! 
Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below 

Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow; 
Where, midst their labor, pause the reaper train 5 

As cool it comes along the grain. 



56 EARLIER POEMS 

Beautiful cloud ! I would I were with thee 

In thy calm way o'er land and sea : 
To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look 

On Earth as on an open book ; lo 

On streams that tie her realms with silver bands, 

And the long ways that seem her lands ; 
And hear her humming cities, and the sound 

Of the great ocean breaking round. 
Ay — I would sail upon thy air-borne car 15 

To blooming regions distant far, 
To where the sun of °Andalusia shines 

On his own olive-groves and vines, 
Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky 

In smiles upon her ruins lie. 20 

But I would woo the winds to let us rest 

°0'er Greece long fettered and oppressed. 
Whose sons at length have heard the call that 
comes 

From the old battle-fields and tombs, 
And risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe 25 

Have dealt the swift and desperate blow. 
And the °Othman power is cloven, and the stroke 

Has touched its chains, and they are broke. 
Ay, we would linger till the sunset there 

Should come, to purple all the air, 30 

And thou reflect upon the sacred ground 

The ruddy radiance streaming round. 

Bright °meteor ! for the summer noontide made ! 
Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade. 



HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR , 57 

The sun, that fihs with hght each gHstening fold, 35 
Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold : 

The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frown 
In the dark heaven when storms come down; 

And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye 

Miss thee, for ever, from the sky. 40 



HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR 

The sad and solemn night 
Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires; 

The glorious host of light 
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires ; 
All through her silent watches, gliding slow, 5 

Her °constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go. 

Day, too, hath many a star 
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : 

Through the blue fields afar. 
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: 10 

Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim. 
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him. 

And thou dost see them rise, 
Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see them set. 

Alone, in thy cold skies, 15 

Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet, 
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train, 
Nor dipp'st thy °virgin orb in the blue western °main. 



5S EARLIER POEMS 

There, at morn's rosy birth, 
Thou lookest meekly through the °kindling air, 20 

And eve, that round the earth 
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; 
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls 
The °shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. 

Alike, beneath thine eye, 25 

The deeds of darkness and of light are done; 

High towards the starlit sky 
Towns blaze, — the smoke of battle blots the sun, — 
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud. 
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. 30 

On thy unaltering blaze 
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost. 

Fixes his steady gaze. 
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast; 
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, 35 

Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps 
right. 

And, therefore, °bards of old, 
°Sages and hermits of the solemn wood. 

Did in thy beams behold 
A beauteous type of that unchanging good, 40 

That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way. 



A FOREST HYMN 59 



A FOREST HYMN 

The Hymn is a rich offering of the fancy and heart. — North Ameri- 
can Review for April, 1826. 

-" A Forest Hymn " has a depth of grandeur in thought and a finish 
in diction truly admirable. Such a hymn could have been conceived by 
no one not familiar from infancy loith the thick foliage and tall trunks 
of oiir primeval forests.— Methodist Quarterly Review for January, 
1859. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 
To hew the °shaft, and lay the °architrave, 
And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, 5 

Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down. 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences 
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, lo 

And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless power is 

And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 



60 EARLIER POEMS 

Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 20 

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 

Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 

Acceptance in His ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 25 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, [ 

Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze. 
And shot towards heaven. The °century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 30 

Among their branches, till, at last, they stood. 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark. 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. °These dim vaults. 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 35 

Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fill'st 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summit of these trees 40, 

In music; — thou art in the cooler breath 
That from the inmost darkness of the place 
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground. 
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 
Here is continual worship; — nature, here, 45 

In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 



A FOREST HYMN 61 

Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs. 

Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots 50 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in these shades. 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — 55 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost °annihilated — °not a prince. 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

Ere wore his crown as loftily as he 

Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 60 

Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower 

With scented breath, and look so like a smile, 

Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 65 

An ^emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visible token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this wide universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 70 

In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
For ever. Written on thy works I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 75 



62 EARLIER POEMS 

How on the faltering footsteps of decay 

Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 

In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees « 

Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 

Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 80 

One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, 

After the flight of untold centuries, 

The freshness of her far beginning lies 

And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 

Of his arch enemy Death — yea, seats himself 85 

°Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 

And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 

Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 

From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 90 

Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them ; — and there have been holy men 95 

Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 100 

And tremble and are still. Oh, God ! when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill. 
With all the waters of the firmament, 






"OZf FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS'^ 63 

The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 105 

And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 

Uprises the great deep and throws himself 

Upon the continent, and overwhelms 

Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 

Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, no 

His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? 

Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 

Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 

Of the mad unchained elements to teach 

Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate 115 

In these calm shades thy milder majesty, 

And to the beautiful order of thy works 

Learn to conform the order of our lives. 



"OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS" 

" Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids " loill strike every poet as the truest 
poem written by Bryant. It is richly ideal. — Ebgar Allan Poe. 

Oh fairest of the rural maids ! 
Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 5 

Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart and on thy face. 



64 ■ EARLIER POEMS 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 

Is in the hght shade of thy locks; lo 

Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 

Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 

And silent waters heaven is seen; 

Their lashes are the herbs that look 15 

On their young figures in the brook. 

The forest depths, by foot unpressed, 

Are not more sinless than thy breast; 

The holy peace, that fills the air 

Of those calm solitudes, is there. 20 



JUNE 

Among the minor poems of Bryant, none has so much impressed me 
as the one lohich he entitles "June.'' The rhythmical flow here is 
even voluptuous — nothing could be more melodio\is. The poem has 
always affected me in a remarkable manner. The intense melancholy 
zchich seems to loell up, perforce, to the surface of all the poet's cheer- 
ful .sayings about his grave, we find thrilling us to the so^d — while 
there is the truest poetic elevation in the thrill. The impression left is 
one of pleasurable sadness. This certain taint of sadness is insepa- 
rably connected with all the higher manifestations of true Beauty. — 
EdcxAr Allan Poe. 

I GAZED upon the glorious sky 

And the green mountains round, 

And thought that when I came to lie 
Within the silent ground, 



JUNE 65 

'Twere pleasant, °that in flowery June, s 

When brooks send up a cheerful tune, 

And groves a joyous sound. 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make. 
The rich, green mountain turf should break. 

A cell within the frozen mould, lo 

A coffin borne through sleet. 
And icy clods above it rolled, 

While fierce the tempests beat — 
Away ! — I will not think of these — 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, 15 

Earth green beneath the feet, 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There through the long, long summer hours. 

The golden light should lie, 20 

And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 
Stand in their beauty by. 

The oriole should build and tell 

His love-tale close beside my cell ; 

The idle butterfly 25 

Should rest him there, and there be heard 

The housewife bee and humming-bird. 

And what if cheerful shouts at noon 

Come, from the village sent, 
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon 30 

With fairy laughter blent ? . 



66 EARLIER POEMS 

And what if, in the evening h"ght, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument ? 
I would the lovely scene around 35 

Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 

I know, I know I should not see 

The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for me, 

Nor its wild music flow; 40 

But if, around my place of sleep, 
The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 45 

These to their softened hearts should bear 
^ The thought of what has been. 

And speak of one who cannot share 

The gladness of the scene ; 
Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 50 

The "circuit of the summer hills, 
Is — that his grave is green ; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear again his living voice. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 67 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the 

year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown 

and °sere. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves 

lie dead; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's 

tread ; 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs 

the jay, 5 

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the 

gloomy day. 



Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 

sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of 

flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of 

ours. lo 

The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November 

rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones 

again. 



68 EARLIER POEMS 

The °wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer 

glow; 
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the 

wood, 15 

And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn 

beauty stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the 

plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from °up- 

land, °glade, and °glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such 

days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter 

home; 20 

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all * 

the trees are still. 
And twinkle in the °smoky light the waters of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance 

late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream 

no more. 



°And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty j 
died, 25 

The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my 
side. 

In the cold moist earth we laid her, when -the forests 
cast the leaf, « 



i 



THE AFRICAN CHIEF 69 

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so 

brief : 
Yet not °unmeet it was that one, like that young friend 

of ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the 

flowers. 30 



THE AFRICAN CHIEF 

The story of the African chief, related in this ballad, may he found 
in the African Repository for April, 1825. The subject of it was a 
warrior of majestic stature, the brother of Yarradee, king of the So- 
lima nation. He had been taken in battle, and brought in chains for 
sale to the Rio Pongas, lohere he loas exhibited in the market-place, 
his ankles still adorned ivith massy rings of gold which he wore when 
captured. The refusal of his captors to listen to his offers of ransom 
drove him mad, and he died a maniac. — William Cullen Bryant. 

Chained in the market-place he stood, 

A man of giant frame, 
Amid the gathering multitude 

That shrunk to hear his name — 
All stern of look and strong of limb, 5 

His dark eye on the ground : — 
And silently they gazed on him, 

As on a lion bound. 

Vainly, but well that chief had fought, 

He was a captive now, 10 

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, 
Was written on his brow. 



EARLIER POEMS 

The scars his dark broad bosom wore 

Showed warrior true and brave; 
A prince among his tribe before, 15 

He could not be a slave. 

Then to his conqueror he spake : 

" My brother is a king ; 
Undo this necklace from my neck, 

And take this bracelet ring, 20 

And send me where my brother reigns, 

And 1 will fill thy hands 
With store of ivory from the plains. 

And gold-dust from the sands." 

" Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 25 

Will I unbind thy chain; 
That bloody hand shall never hold 

The battle-spear again. 
A price thy nation never gave 

Shall yet be paid for thee; 3° 

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave. 

In lands beyond the sea.'' 

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 

To shred his locks away ; 
And one by one, each heavy braid 35 

Before the victor lay. 
Thick were the platted locks, and long, 

And closely hidden there 



THE AFRICAN CHIEF 71 

Shone many a wedge of gold among 

The dark and crisped hair. 40 

" Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 

Long kept for sorest need; 
Take it — thou askest sums untold — 

And say that I am freed. 
Take it — my wife, the long, long day, 45 

Weeps by the cocoa-tree. 
And my young children leave their play, 

And ask in vain for me." 

" I take thy gold, — but I have made 

Thy fetters fast and strong, 50 

And ween that by the cocoa-shade 

Thy wife will wait thee long." 
Strong was the agony that shook 

The captive's frame to hear. 
And the proud meaning of his look 55 

Was changed to mortal fear. 

His heart was broken — crazed his brain : 

At once his eye grew wild ; 
He struggled fiercely with his chain, 

Whispered, and wept, and smiled; 60 

Yet wore not long those fatal bands, 

And once, at shut of day. 
They drew him forth upon the sands, 

The foul hyena's prey. 



72 EARLIER POEMS 



A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL 

Decolor, obscuris, vilis, non ille repexam . 
Cesarieni regum, non Candida virginis ornat 
Colla, nee insigni splendet per cingula morsu. 
Sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxi, 
Tunc superat pulchros cultus et quicquid Eois 
Indus litoribus rubra scrutaturin alga. 

— Claudian, 

I SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped 

With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright 

— The many-colored flame — and played and leaped, 
I thought of rainbows and the northern light, 

Moore's °Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report, 5 

And other brilliant matters of the sort. 

And last I thought of that fair isle which sent 

The mineral fuel ; on a summer day 
1 saw it once, with heat and travel spent. 

And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way; 10 
Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stone — 
A rugged road through rugged °Tiverton. 

And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew 

The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought, 

Where will this dreary passage lead me to ? 15 

This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? 



A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL 73 

I looked to see it dive in earth outright; 

I looked — but saw a far more welcome sight. 

Like a soft mist upon the evening shore, 

At once a lovely isle before me lay, 20 

Smooth and with tender verdure covered o'er, 

As if just risen from its calm inland bay; 
Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge, 
And the small waves that dallied with the sedge. 

The barley was just reaped — its heavy sheaves 25 

Lay on the stubble field — the tall maize stood 

Dark in its summer growth, and shook its leaves — 
And bright the sunlight played on the young wood — 

For fifty years ago, the old men say. 

The Briton hewed their ancient groves away. 30 

I saw where fountains freshened the green land, 
And where the pleasant road, from door to door, 

With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, 
Went wandering all that fertile region o'er — 

Rogue's Island once — but when the rogues were 
dead, 35 

Rhode Island was the name it took instead. 

Beautiful island ! then it only seemed 
A lovely stranger — it has grown a friend. 

I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed 

How soon that bright magnificent isle would send 40 



74 EARLIER POEMS 

The treasures of its womb across the sea, 
To warm a poet's room and boil his tea. 

Dark anthracite ! that reddenest on my hearth, 
Thou in those island mines didst slumber long; 

But now thou art come forth to move the earth, 45 

And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong. 

Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate thee, 

And warm the shins of all that underrate thee. 

Yea, they did wrong thee foully — they who mocked 
Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not burn; 50 

Of hewing thee to chimney-pieces talked. 

And grew profane — and swore, in bitter scorn, 

That men might to thy inner caves retire. 

And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire. 

Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state, 55 

That I too have seen greatness — even I — 

Shook hands with Adams — stared at La Fayette, 
When, barehead, in the hot noon of July, 

He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him, 

For which three cheers burst from the mob before him. 60 

And I have seen — not many months ago — 

An eastern Governor in °chapeau bras 
And military coat, a glorious show ! 

Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ah ! 
How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonathan ! 65 

How many hands were shook and votes were won ! 



A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL 75 

'Twas a great Governor — thou too shalt be 

Great in thy turn — and wide shall spread thy fame, 

And swiftly ; farthest Maine shall hear of thee, 

And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy name, 70 

And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle 

That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile. 

For thou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat 

The hissing rivers into steam, and drive 
Huge masses from thy mines, on iron feet, 75 

Walking their steady way, as if alive, 
Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee. 
And south as far as the grim Spaniard lets thee. 

Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea. 

Like its own monsters — boats that for a guinea 80 

Will take a man to °Havre — and shalt be 
The moving soul of many a "spinning- jenny. 

And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear 

As good a suit of broadcloth as the mayor. 

Then we will laugh at winter when we hear 85 

The grim old churl about our dwellings rave : 

Thou, from that °" ruler of the inverted year," 
Shall pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave. 

And pull him from his sledge, and drag him in, 

And melt the icicles from off his chin. 90 



76 EARLIER POEMS 



, THE JOURNEY OF LIFE 

Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, 
And muse on human hfe — for all around 

Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, 
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground, 

And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, 5 

Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air. 

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear — 
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ; 

And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear 

Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. 10 

A mournful wind across the landscape flies, 

And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs. 

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on. 
Watching the stars that roll the hours away, 

Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, 15 

And, like another life, the glorious day 

Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height, 

With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light. 

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE 

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around ; 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? 



THE GLADNESS OF NATURE 77 

There are notes of joy from the °hang-bird and wren 5 
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky, 

The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
And the °wilding bee hums merrily by. 

The clouds are at play in the °azure space, 

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 10 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

There's a dance of leaves in that °aspen bower. 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 15 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, 

On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 

Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 20 



78 EARLIER POEMS 



THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS 

This conjunction loas said in the common calendars to have taken 
place on the 2d of August, 1826. This, I believe, loas an error, but the 
apparent approach of the jplanets ivas sufficiently near for poetical 
pitrposes. — William Cullen Bryant. 

I WOULD not always reason. The straight path 
Wearies us with its never-varying hnes, 
And we grow melancholy. I would make 
Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit 
Patiently by the way-side, while I traced 5 

The mazes of the pleasant wilderness 
Around me. She should be my counsellor, 
But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs 
Impulses from a deeper source than hers, 
And there are motions, in the mind of man, lo 

That she must look upon with awe. I bow 
Reverently to her dictates, but not less 
Hold to the fair illusions of old time — 
Illusions that shed brightness over, life. 
And glory over nature. Look, even now, 15 

Where two bright planets in the twilight meet. 
Upon the saffron heaven, — the imperial star 
Of Jove, and °she that from her radiant urn 
Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, 
Awhile, that they are met for ends of good, 20 



THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS 79 

Amid the evening glory, to confer 

Of men and their affairs, and to shed down 

Kind influence. Lo ! they brighten as we gaze, 

And shake out softer fires ! The great earth feels 

The gladness and the quiet of the time. 25 

Meekly the mighty river, that infolds 

This mighty city, smooths his front, and far 

Glitters and burns even to the rocky base 

Of the dark heights tha^t bound him to the west ; 

And a deep murmur, from the many streets, 30 

Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence 

Dark and sad thoughts awhile — there's time for them 

Hereafter — on the morrow we will meet. 

With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, 

And make each other wretched ; this calm hour, 35 

This balmy, blessed evening, we will give 

To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days. 

Born of the meeting of those glorious stars. 

Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared 
The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, 40 

Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. 
The °dog-star shall shine harmless : genial days 
Shall softly glide away into the keen 
And wholesome cold of winter ; he that fears 
The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, 45 

And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air. 

Emblems of power and beauty ! well may they 
Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw 



80 EARLIER POEMS 

Towards the great Pacific, marking out 
The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, 
Ere long, the better Genius of our race, 
Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, 
Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west. 
By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back 
On realms made happy. 

Light the nuptial torch, 55 

And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits 
The youth and maiden. Happy days to them 
That wed this evening ! — a long life of love. 
And blooming sons and daughters ! °Happy they 
Born at this hour, — for they shall see an age 60 

Whiter and holier than the past, and go 
Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, 
And shudder at the butcheries of war. 
As now at other murders. 

°Hapless Greece ! 
Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained 65 

Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn 
Their links into thy flesh ; the sacrifice 
Of thy pure maidens, ajid thy innocent babes, 
And reverend priests, has expiated all 
Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights 70 

There is an omen of good days for thee. 
Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit 
Again among the nations. Thine own arm 
Shall vet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine 



A SUMMER RAMBLE 81 

The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings-, — 75 

I Despot with despot battling for a throne, — 

And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms. 

Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall 

Upon each other, and in all their bounds 

The wailing of the childless shall not cease. 80 

Thine is a war for liberty, and thou 

Must fight it single-handed. The old world 

Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, 

And leaves thee to the struggle ; and the new, — 

I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale 85 

Of fraud and lust of gain; — thy treasury drained, 

And °Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs 

Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand, 

And God and thy good sword shall yet work out, 

For thee, a terrible deliverance. 90 



A SUMMER RAMBLE 

The quiet August noon has come, 
A slumberous silence fills the sky. 

The fields are still, the woods are dumb, 
In glassy sleep the waters lie. 

And mark yon soft white clouds that rest 
Above our vale, a moveless throng; 

The cattle on the mountain's breast 
Enjoy the grateful shadow long. 



82 EARLIER POEMS 

Oh, how unHke those merry hours 

In early June when Earth laughs out, lo 

When the fresh winds make love to flowers, 

And woodlands sing and waters shout. 

When in the grass sweet voices talk, 

And strains of tiny music swell 
From every moss-cup of the rock, 15 

From every nameless blossom's belL 

But now a joy too deep for sound, 

A peace no other season knows, 
Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, 

The blessing of supreme repose. 20 

Away ! I will not be, to-day. 

The only slave of toil and care. 
Away from desk and dust ! away ! 

I'll be as idle as the air. 

Beneath the open sky abroad, 25 

Among the plants and breathing things, 

The sinless, peaceful works of God, 
I'll share the calm the season brings. 

°Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see 
The gentle meanings of thy heart, 30 

One day amid the woods with me. 
From men and all their cares apart. 



A SUMMER RAMBLE 83 

And where, upon the meadow's breast, 

The shadow of the thicket Hes, 
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest 35 

Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes. 

Come; and when mid the calm profound, 

I turn, those gentle eyes to seek. 
They, like the lovely landscape round. 

Of innocence and peace shall speak. 40 

Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade, 

And on the silent valleys gaze. 
Winding and widening, till they fade 

In yon soft ring of summer haze. 

The village trees their summits rear 45 

Still as its spire, and yonder .flock 
At rest in those calm fields appear 

As chiselled from the lifeless rock. 

One tranquil mount the scene overlooks — 

There the hushed winds their °sabbath keep 50 

While a near hum from bees and brooks 
Comes faintly like the breath of sleep. 

Well may the gazer °deem that when, 
Worn with the struggle and the strife, 

And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, 55 

The good forsakes the scene of life; 



84 EARLIER POEMS 

Like this deep quiet that, awhile, 
Lingers the lovely landscape o'er, 

Shall be the peace whose holy smile 

Welcomes him to a happier shore. 60 



A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON 

Cool shades and dews are round my way, 

And silence of the early day; 

Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed. 

Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, 

Unrippled, save by drops that fall s 

From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall; 

And o'er the clear still water swells 

The music of the sabbath bells. 

All, save this little nook of land 

Circled with trees, on which I stand; 10 

All, save that line of hills which lie 

°Suspended in the mimic sky — 

Seems a blue °void, above, below. 

Through which the white clouds come and go. 

And from the green world's farthest steep 15. 

I gaze into the airy deep. 

Loveliest of lovely things are they, 
On earth, that soonest pass away. 



WILLIAM TELL 85 

The rose that Hves its Httle hour 

Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. 20 

Even love, long tried and cherished long, 

Becomes more tender and more strong, 

At thought of that °insatiate grave 

From which its yearnings cannot save. 

River ! in this still hour thou hast 25 

Too much of heaven on earth to last; 

Nor long may thy still waters lie, 

An image of the glorious sky. 

Thy fate and mine are not repose, 

And ere another evening close, 30 

Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, 

And I to seek the crowd of men. 



°WILLIAM TELL 

Chains may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, 
Tell, of the iron heart ! they could not tame ! 
For thou wert of the mountains ; they proclaim 

The everlasting creed of liberty. 

That creed is written on the untrampled snow, 5 

Thundered by torrents which no power can hold, 
Save that of God, when He sends forth His cold. 

And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow. 

Thou, while thy prison-walls were dark around, 

Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught, 10 



86 EARLIER POEMS 

And to thy brief captivity was brought 
A vision of thy Switzerland unbound. 

The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee 
For the great work to set thy country free. 



THE PAST 

Thou unrelenting Past ! 
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 

And fetters, sure and fast, 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 



Far in thy realm withdrawn 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 



Childhood, with all its mirth. 
Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, 

And last, Man's Life on earth, 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 



°Thou hast my better years. 
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind, 

Yielded to thee with tears — 
The venerable form — the exalted mind. 



THE PAST 87 

My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives'thence. 20 

In vain — thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart. 

In thy °abysses hide 25 

Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea; 

Labors of good to man, 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 30 

Love, that midst grief began. 
And grew with years, and faltered not in death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered; 

With thee are silent fame, 35 

Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 

Thine for a space are they — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; 

Thy gates shall yet give way. 
Thy bolts shall fall, °inexorable Past ! 40 



EARLIER POEMS 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 

Shall then come forth to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perished — no ! 45 

Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, 

Smiles, radiant long ago, 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 

All shall come back, each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again; 50 

°Alone shall Evil die. 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
°Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 

And °her, who, still and cold, 55 

Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young. 



THE HUNTER'S SERENADE 

Thy °bower is finished, fairest ! 

Fit bower for hunter's bride — 
Where old woods overshadow 

The green °savanna's side. 
I've wandered long, and wandered far, 

And never have I met, 



THE HUNTER'S SERENADE 89 

In all this lovely western land, 

A spot so lovely yet. 
But I shall think it fairer, 

When thou art come to bless, lo 

With thy sweet smile and silver voice, 

Its silent loveliness. 

For thcc the wild grape glistens. 

On sunny knoll and tree. 
The slim °papaya ripens 15 

Its yellow fruit for thee. 
For thee the duck, on glassy stream, 

The prairie-fowl shall die, 
My rifle for thy feast shall bring 

The wild swan from the sky. 20 

The forest's leaping panther. 

Fierce, beautiful, and fleet. 
Shall yield his spotted hide to be 

A carpet for thy feet. 

I know, for thou hast told me, 25 

Thy maiden love of flowers ; 
Ah, those that deck thy gardens 

Are pale compared with ours. 
When our wide woods and mighty lawns 

Bloom to the April skies, 30 

The earth has no more gorgeous sight 

To show to human eyes. 
In meadows red with blossoms. 

All summer long, the bee 



90 EARLIER POEMS 

Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs, 35 

For thee, my love, and me. 

Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens 

Of ages long ago — 
Our old oaks stream with mosses, 

And sprout with mistletoe; 40 

And mighty vines, like serpents, climb 

The giant sycamore ; 
And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries, 

Cumber the forest floor; 
And in the great savanna, 45 

°The solitary mound. 
Built by the elder world, o'erlooks 

The loneliness around. 

Come, thou hast not forgotten 

Thy pledge and promise quite, 50 

With many blushes murmured, 

Beneath the evening light. 
Come, the young violets crowd my door, 

Thy earliest look to win. 
And at my silent window-sill 55 

The jessamine peeps in. 
All day the red-bird warbles, 

Upon the mulberry near, 
And the night-sparrow trills her song, 

All night, with none to hear. 60 



TO THE EVENING WIND 91 



TO THE EVENING WIND 

If there he anything loithin the whole compass of literature more 
delicate, more pure, more exquisitely sioeet than this, it has not fallen 
under our observation. — North American Revieiofor April, 1832. 

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou 
That cool'st the twihght of the sultry day, 

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 5 

Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray 

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea ! 

Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round 

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; lo 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; 
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, 

Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. 
Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, 15 

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, 

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 

The wide old wood from his majestic rest. 

Summoning from the innumerable boughs 20 

The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast : 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 



92 EARLIER POEMS 

The shutting flower, and darkHng waters pass, 

And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 25 

To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 

His temples, while his breathing grows more deep : 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed. 

Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 30 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle^ of eternal change, 
Which is the life of nature, shall restore, 

With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range 35 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; 

Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange. 
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 40 



"INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE 
FLOWER" 

Innocent child and snow-white flower ! 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN 93 

White as those leaves, just blown apart, 5 

Are the folds of thy own young heart; 
Guilty passion and cankering care 
Never have left their traces there. 

Artless one ! though thou gazest now 

O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 10 

Soon will it tire thy childish eye, 

Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. 

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, 

Throw to the ground the fair white flower, 

Yet, as thy tender years depart, 15 

Keep that white and innocent heart. 



TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew. 
And colored with the heaven's own blue. 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 

Thou comest not when violets lean 

O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 

Or columbines, in purple dressed, 

Nod o'er the °ground-bird's hidden nest. 



94 EARLIER POEMS 

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
When woods are bare and birds are flown, lo 
And frosts and shortening days °portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 

Look through its fringes to the sky, 

°Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 15 

A flower from its °cerulean wall. 



I would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
May look to heaven as I depart. 



°THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER 

Wild was the day; the wintry sea 

Moaned sadly on New-England's strand, 

When first the thoughtful and the free. 
Our fathers, trod the desert land. 

They little thought how pure a light. 

With years, should gather round that day; 

How love should keep their memories bright. 
How wide a realm their sons should sway. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 95 

Green are their °bays ; but greener still 

Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, lo 

And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 

With reverence when their names are breathed. 

Till where the sun, with softer fires. 

Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep. 
The children of the pilgrim sires 15 

This hallowed day like us shall keep. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 

The "Song of Marion's Men" is a beautiful ballad with much the 
grace of Campbell and the vigor of Allen Cunningham. The exploits 
of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan warrior of South 
Carolina, forms an interesting chapter in the annals of the American 
Revolution. — Christopher North. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 
, Our leader frank and bold; 
°The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, s 

Our tent the cypress- tree ; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 
We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 10 

Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 



96 EARLIER POEMS 

°Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near ! 
On them shall light at midnight 15 

A strange and sudden fear : 
When waking to their tents on fire 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again; 20 

And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 25 

From danger and from toil : 
We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout. 

As if a hunt were °up, 30 

And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 35 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
The band that Marion leads — 

The glitter of their rifles. 

The scampering of their steeds. 40 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 97 

'Tis life to guide the fiery °barb 

Across the moonhght plain; 
'Tis life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 45 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad °Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs, 50 

Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 55 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms. 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. • 60 



98 EARLIER POEMS 



THE PRAIRIES 

These are the gardens of the °Desert, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, 
For which the speech of England has no name — 
The Prairies. °I behold them for the first, 
And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch 
In airy °undulations far away, 
°As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 
Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, 
And motionless for ever. — Motionless ? ^ 
No — they are all unchained again. The clouds 
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath, 
°The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye; 
Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase 
The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! 
Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers. 
And pass °the prairie-hawk that, poised on high. 
Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have played 
Among the palms of Mexico and vines 
Of Texas, and have °crisped the °limpid brooks 
That from the fountains of °Sonora glide 
Into the calm Pacific — have }- e fanned 
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? 
Man hath no part in all this glorious work : 



THE PRAIRIES 99 

[The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 25 

^nd smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their 

slopes 

iWith herbage, planted them with island groves, 
pAnd hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor 
IFor this magnificent temple of the sky — 
With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 30 

Rival the °constellations ! The great heavens 
jSeem to stoop down upon the scene in love, — 
A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, 
Than that which bends above the eastern hills. 

As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, 35 

Among the high rank grass that sweeps his sides 
The hollow beating of his footsteps seems 
A °sacrilegious sound. I think of those 
Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here — 
The dead of other days ? — and did the dust 40 

Of these fair solitudes once stir with life 
And burn with passion ? Let the mighty mounds 
That overlook the rivers, or that rise 
In the dim forest crowded with old oaks. 
Answer. °A race, that long has passed away, 45 

Built them ; — a disciplined and populous race 
Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek 
Was hewing the °Pentelicus to forms 
Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock 
The glittering °Parthenon. These ample fields 50 

Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed, 
When haply by their stalls the bison lowed, 



100 ' EARLIER POEMS 

And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. 

All day this desert murmured with their toils, 

Till twilight blushed, and lot^ers walked, and wooed 55 

In a forgotten language, and old tunes, 

From instruments of unremembered form. 

Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came — 

The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce. 

And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. 60 

The solitude of centuries untold 

Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf 

Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den 

Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground 

Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone — 65 

All — save the piles of earth that hold their bones — 

The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods - 

The barriers which they builded from the soil 

To keep the foe at bay — till o'er the walls 

The wild °beleaguerers broke, and, one by one, 70 

The strongholds of the plain were °forced, and heaped 

With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood 

Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres. 

And sat, unscared and silent, at their feast. 

Haply some solitary fugitive, 75 

Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense 

Of desolation and of fear became 

Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die. 

Man's better nature triumphed then. Kind words 

Welcomed and soothed him; °the rude conquerors 80 

Seated the captive with their chiefs; he chose 

A bride among their maidens, and at length 



THE PRAIRIES 101 

Seemed to forget; — yet ne'er forgot, — the wife 
Of his first love, and her sweet Httle ones, 
Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race. 85 

Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise 
Races of living things, glorious in strength. 
And perish, as the quickening breath of God 
Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too, 
Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long, 90 

And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought 
A wilder hunting-ground. The beaver builds 
No longer by these streams, but far away, 
On waters whose blue surface ne'er °gave back 
The white man's face — among °Missouri's springs, 95 
And pools whose °issues swell the °Oregon, 
°He rears his little Venice. In these plains 
The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues 
Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp. 
Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake 100 
The earth with thundering steps — yet here I meet 
His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool. 

Still this great solitude is quick with life. 
Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers 
They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, 105 

And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man, 
Are' here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, 
Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer 
Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee, 
A more adventurous colonist than man, no 



102 EARLIER POEMS 

With whom he came across the eastern deep, 

Fills the °savannas with his murmurings, 

And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, 

Within the hollow oak. I listen long 

To his domestic hum, and think I hear 115 

The sound of that advancing multitude 

Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground 

Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice 

Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn h3^mn 

Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds 120 

Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain 

Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once 

A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream. 

And I am in the wilderness alone. 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES 

Bryant's song of " The Hunter of the Prairies " is one of those bold, 
free bursts that is sure to find its echo in the deep, green woods and on 
the ocean plains. — Littell's Living Age for May, 1859. 

Ay, this is freedom ! — these pure skies 

Were never stained with village smoke : 
The fragrant wind, that through them flies, 

Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. 
Here, with my rifle and my steed, . 5 

And her who left the world for me, 
I plant me, where the red deer feed 

In the green desert — and am free. 



THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES 103 

For here the fair °savannas know 

No barriers in the bloomy grass; lo 

Wherever breeze of heaven may blow, 

Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 
•In pastures, measureless as air. 

The bison is my noble game ; 
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 15 

The branches, falls before my aim. 

Mine are the river-fowl that scream 

From the long stripe of waving sedge; 
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam. 

Hides vainly in the forest's edge; 20 

In vain the she-wolf stands at bay; 

The °brinded "catamount, that lies 
High in the boughs to watch his prey. 

Even in the act of springing, dies. 

With what free growth the elm and °plane 25 

Fling their huge arms across my way. 
Gray, old, and "cumbered with a train 

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray ! 
Free stray the lucid streams, and find 

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades; 30 
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 

Where never scythe has swept the glades. 

Alone the °Fire, when frost-winds °sere 

The heavy herbage of the ground, 
Gathers his annual harvest here, 35 

With roaring like the battle's sound, 



104 EARLIER POEMS 

And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, 
And smoke-streams gushing up the sky : 

°I meet the flames with flames again, 
And at my door they cower and die. 



40 



Here, from dim woods, the aged past 

Speaks solemnly; and I behold 
The boundless future in the vast 

And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew ? 45 

Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass. 
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue 

Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ? 

Broad are these streams — my steed obeys. 

Plunges, and bears me through the tide. 50 

Wide are these woods — I thread the °maze 

Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies 

O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
And kind the voice and glad the eyes 55 

That welcome my return at night. 



seve:n'ty-six 105 



°SEVENTY-SIX 

There is martial music in the very measure of the following verses, 
as there is a gallant indication in their title of ^^ Seventy -six." — 
American Quarterly Review for December, 1836. 

What heroes from the woodland sprung, 
When, through the fresh-awakened land, 

The thrilling cry of freedom rung. 

And to the work of warfare strung 

The °yeoman's iron hand ! S 

Hills flung the cry to hills around. 

And °ocean-mart replied to mart. 
And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, 
Pealed far away the startling sound 

Into the forest's heart. lo 

Then marched the brave from rocky sleep, 

From mountain river swift and cold; 
The borders of the stormy deep. 
The vales where gathered waters sleep, 

Sent up the strong and bold, — 15 

As if the very earth again 

Grew quick with God's creating breath, 
And, from the sods of grave and glen, 
Rose ranks of lion-hearted men 

To battle to the death. 20 



106 EARLIER POEMS 

The wife whose babe first smiled that day, 

The fair fond bride of yestereve, 
And aged sire and matron gray, 
Saw the loved warriors haste away. 

And deemed it sin to grieve. 25 

^Already had the strife begun; 

Already blood on °Concord's plain 
Along the springing grass had run. 
And blood had flowed at °Lexington, 

Like brooks of April rain. 30 

That death-stain on the °vernal sward 
Hallowed to freedom all the shore; 

In fragments fell the yoke abhorred — 

The footstep of a foreign lord 

Profaned the soil no more. 35 



°T0 THE APENNINES 

Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines ! 

In the soft light of these serenest skies ; 
From the broad highland region, black with pines, 

Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, 
Bathed in the tint °Peruvian slaves behold 5 

In rosy flushes on the °virgin gold. 

There, rooted to the °aerial shelves that wear 
The glory of a brighter world, might spring 



TO THE APENNINES 107 

Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed air, 

And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the wing, lo 
To view the fair earth in its summer sleep. 
Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep. 

Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old 
°Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday; 

The herd's white bones lie mixed with human mould — 15 
Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey 

Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with pain, 

Was yielded to the elements again. 

Ages of war have filled these plains with fear ; 

How oft the °hind has started at the clash 20 

Of spears, and yell of meeting armies here. 

Or seen the lightning of the battle flash 
From clouds, that rising with the thunder's sound, 
Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground ! 

Ah me ! what armed nations — °Asian horde, 25 

And °Libyan host — the °Scythian and the °Gaul, 

Have swept your base and through your passes poured, 
Like ocean-tides uprising at the call 

Of tyrant winds — against your rocky side 

The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died. 30 

How crashed the towers before ^beleaguering foes, 
Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain; 

And commonwealths against their rivals rose, 

Trode out their lives and earned °the curse of Cain ! 



108 EARLIER POEMS 

While in the noiseless air and light that flowed 35 

Round your far brows, eternal Peace abode. 

Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar flames 
Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng, 

°Jove, °Bacchus, °Pan, and earlier, fouler names; 
While, as the unheeding ages passed along, 40 

Ye, from your station in the °middle skies. 

Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise. 

In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks 
Her image ; there the winds no barrier know, 

Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks; 45 

While even the immaterial Mind, below. 

And Thought, her winged offspring, chained by power, 

Pine silently for the redeeming hour. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 

This song refers to the expedition of the Vermonters, commanded by 
Ethan Allen, by lohom the British fort of Ticonderoga, on Lake Cham- 
plain, was surprised and taken, in May, 1775. — William Cullen 
Bryant. 

I 

Here we halt our march, and pitch our tent, 

On the rugged forest ground. 
And light our fire with the branches rent, 

By winds from the beeches round. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 109 

Wild storms have? torn this ancient wood, 5 

But a wilder is at hand, 
With hail of iron and rain of blood, 

To sweep andscath(e) the land. 

II 

How the dark waste rings with voices shrill. 

That startle the sleeping bird, 10 

To-morrow eve must the voice be still, 

And the step must fall unheard. 
The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, 

In Ticonderoga's towers, 
And ere the sun rise twice again, 15 

The towers and the lake are ours. 



Ill 

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides. 

Where the fireflies light the brake; 
A ruddier juice the Briton hides. 

In his fortress by the lake. 2c 

Build high the fire, till the panther leap 

From his lofty perch in fright. 
And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep, 

For the deeds of to-morrow night. 



110 EARLIER POEMS 



°CATTERSKILL FALLS 

Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps, 
From cliffs where the wood-flower clings ; 

All summer he moistens his verdant steeps 

With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs ; 

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, s 

When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide. 

But when, in the forest bare and old. 

The blast of December calls. 
He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, 

A palace of ice where his torrent falls, lo 

With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair, 
And pillars blue as the summer air. 

For whom are those glorious chambers wrought. 

In the cold and cloudless night ? 
Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought is 

In forms so lovely, and hues so bright ? 
Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell 
Of this wild stream and its rocky dell. 

'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood, 

, A hundred winters ago, 20 

Had wandered over the mighty wood, 

When the panther's track was fresh on the snow, 



CATTERSKILL FALLS 111 

And keen were the winds that came to stir 
The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir. 

Too gentle of °mien he seemed and fair, ' 25 

For a child of those rugged steeps ; 
His home lay low in the valley where 

The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps; 
But he wore the hunter's frock that day, 
And a slender gun on his shoulder lay. 30 

And here he paused, and against the trunk 

Of a tall gray °linden leant, 
When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk 

From his path in the frosty firmament. 
And over the round dark edge of the hill 35 

A cold green light was quivering still. 

And the °crescent moon, high over the green, 

From a sky of crimson shone. 
On that icy palace, whose towers were seen 

To sparkle as if with stars of their own; 40 

While the water fell with a hollow sound, 
'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around. 

Is that a being of life, that moves 
Where the crystal battlements rise ? 

A maiden watching the moon she loves, 45 

At the twilight hour, with °pensive eyes ? 



112 EARLIER POEMS 

Was that a garment which seemed to gleam 
Betwixt the eye and the faUing stream ? 

Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er, 

In the midst of those glassy walls, 50 

Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor 

Of the rocky basin in which it falls. 
Tis only the torrent — but why that start ? 
Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart ? 

He thinks no more of his home afar, 55 

Where his sire and sister wait. 
He heeds no longer how star after star 

Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late. 
He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast 
From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast. 60 

His thoughts are alone of those who dwell 

In the halls of frost and snow. 
Who pass where the crystal domes upswell 

From the °alabaster floors below, 
Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray, 65 
And frost-gems scatter a silvery day. 

"And oh that those glorious haunts were mine !" 
He speaks, and throughout the glen 

Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine, 

And take a ghastly likeness of men, 70 

As if the slain by the wintry storms 

Came forth to the air in their earthly forms. 



CATTEESKILL FALLS 113 

There pass the chasers of seal and whale^ 

With their weapons °quaint and grim, 
And bands of warriors in ghttering °mail, 75 

And herdsmen and hunters huge of Hmb. 
There are naked arms, with bow and spear, 
And furry gauntlets the °carbine rear. 

There are mothers — and oh how sadly their eyes 

On their children's white brows rest ! 80 

There are youthful lovers — the maiden lies, 
In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast ; 

There are fair wan women with moonstruck air, 

The snow stars flecking their long loose hair. 

They eye him not as they pass along, 85 

But his hair stands up with dread. 
When he feels that he moves with that °phantom throng, 

Till those icy turrets are over his head. 
And the torrent's roar as they enter seems 
Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. 90 

The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, 
When there gathers and wraps him round 

A thick white twilight, sullen and vast. 
In which there is neither form nor sound; 

The °phantoms, the glory, vanish all, 95 

With the dying voice of the waterfall. 

Slow passes the darkness of that trance, 
And the youth now faintly sees 



114 EARLIER POEMS 

Huge shadows and gushes of Hght that dance 

On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, loo 

And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, 
And rifles glitter on antlers strung. 

On a couch of shaggy skins he lies ; 

As he strives to raise his head, 
Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, 105 

, Come round him and smooth his furry bed, 
And bid him rest, for the evening star 
Is scarcely set and the day is far. 

They had found at eve the dreaming one 

By the base of that icy steep, no 

When over his stiffening limbs begun 
The deadly slumber of frost to creep, 

And they cherished the pale and breathless form, 

Till the °stagnant blood ran free and warm. 



THE BATTLE-FIELD 115 



THE BATTLE-FIELD 

How like a psean after a glorious victory do the ideas and cadences 
of that noble song, " The Battlefield," strike on the ear and thrill the 
soul! It is the jubilate of joy and hope, accompanied by the spirit- 
stirring notes of a whole orchestra. How sweet its tones, hoio noble its 
sentiments, how grand its thoughts, so hopeful of right, so defiant of 
wrong, so uncompromisingly ready to live in misery and disgrace, in 
toil and suffering, if but the true and the good triumph. — Methodist 
Quarterly Review for January, 1859. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the °battle-cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 5 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave — 

Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 
Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, . lo 

And talk of children on the hill. 

And bell of wandering °kine, are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering °wain ; 
Men start not at the battle-cry, 15 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 



116 EARLIER POEMS 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 

Who minglest in the harder strife 
For truths which men receive not now, 

Thy warfare only ends with Hfe. 2c 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year, 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the °proof, 25 

And blench not at thy chosen lot. 1 

The timid good may stand aloof, ' 

The °sage may frown — yet faint thou not. 



Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; . 30 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 

The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, 35 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, 
When they who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fell in battle here. 



i 



THE BATTLE-FIELD 117 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 

Another hand the standard wave, 
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 

The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 



118 LATER POEMS 



LATER POEMS 

°SELLA 

Sella is the name given by the Vulgate to one of the loives of Lamech, 
mentioned in the fourth chapter of the hook of Genesis, and called 
Zillah in the common English version of the Bible. — William Cullen 
Bryant. 

Hear now- a legend of the days of old — 
The days when there were goodly marvels yet, 
When man to man gave willing faith, and loved 
A tale the better that 'twas wild and strange. 

°Beside a pleasant dwelling ran a brook 5 

Scudding along a narrow channel, paved 
With green and yellow pebbles ; yet full clear 
Its waters were, and colorless and cool. 
As fresh from granite rocks. A maiden oft 
Stood at the open window, leaning out, 10 

And listening to the sound the water made, 
°A sweet, eternal murmur, still the same, 
And not the same; and oft, as spring came on. 
She gathered violets from its fresh moist bank. 
To place within her bower, and when the herbs ' 15 
Of summer drooped beneath the mid-day sun. 
She sat within the shade of a great rock. 
Dreamily listening to the streamlet's song. 



SELLA 119 

Ripe were the maiden's years ; her stature showed 
Womanly beauty, and her clear, calm eye 20 

Was bright with venturous spirit, yet her face 
Was °passionless, like those by sculptor °graved 
For °niches in a temple. Lovers oft 
Had wooed her, but she only laughed at love, 
And wondered at the silly things they said. 25 

'Twas her delight to wander where wild vines 
O'erhang the river's brim, to climb the path 
Of woodland streamlet to its mountain springs, 
To sit by gleaming °wells and mark below 
The image of the rushes on its edge, 30 

°And, deep beyond, the trailing clouds that slid 
Across the fair blue space. No little fount 
Stole forth from hanging rock, or in the side 
Of hollow dell, or under roots of oak; 
No rill came trickling, °with a stripe of green, 35 

Down the bare hill, that to this maiden's eye 
Was not familiar. Often did the banks 
Of river or of °sylvan lakelet hear 
The dip of oars with which the maiden rowed 
Her °shallop, pushing ever from the prow 40 

A crowd of long, light ripples toward the shore. 

Two brothers had the maiden, and she thought. 
Within herself : " I would I were like them ; 
For then I might go forth alone, to trace 
The mighty rivers downward to the sea, 45 

And upward to the brooks that, through the year, 
Prattle to the cool valleys. I would know 
What races drink their waters ; how their chiefs 



120 LATER POEMS 

Bear rule, and how men worship there, and how 

They build, and to what quaint device they frame, 50 

Where sea and river meet, their stately ships ; 

What flowers are in their gardens, and what trees 

Bear fruit within their orchards ; in what garb 

Their bowmen meet on holidays, and how 

Their maidens bind the waist and braid the hair. 55 

Here, on these hills, my father's house overlooks 

Broad pastures grazed by flocks and herds, but there 

I hear they sprinkle the great plains with corn 

And watch its springing up, and when the green 

Is changed to gold, they cut the stems and bring 60 

The harvest in, and give the nations bread. 

And there they hew the °quarry into shafts. 

And pile up glorious temples from the rock, 

And chisel the rude stones to shapes of men. 

All this I pine to see, and would have seen, 65 

But that I am a woman, long ago." 

Thus in her wanderings did the maiden dream, 
Until, at length, one morn in early spring, 
When all the glistening fields lay white with frost, 
She came half breathless where her mother sat : 70 
"See, mother dear," she said, "what I have found. 
Upon our rivulet's bank; two °slippers, white 
As the mid-winter snow, and spangled o'er 
With twinkling points, like stars, and on the edge 
My name is wrought in silver; read, I pray, 75 

Sella, the name thy mother, now in heaven. 
Gave at my birth ; and sure, they fit my feet ! " 
"A dainty pair," the prudent matron said, 



J 



SELLA 121 

" But thine they are not. We must lay them by 

For those whose careless hands have left them here ■ 80 

Or haply they were placed beside the brook 

To be a snare. °I cannot see thy name 

Upon the border — only characters 

Of mystic look and dim are there, like signs 

Of some strange art; nay, daughter, wear them not." 85 

Then Sella hung the slippers in the porch 
Of that broad rustic lodge, and all who passed 
Admired their fair °contexture, but none knew 
Who left them by the brook. And now, at length. 
May, with her flowers and singing birds, had gone, 90 
And on bright streams and into deep wells shone 
The high midsummer sun. One day, at noon, 
Sella was missed from the accustomed meal. 
They sought her in her favorite haunts, they looked 
By the great rock and far along the stream, 95 

And shouted in the °sounding woods her name. 
Night came, and forth the sorrowing household went 
With torches over the wide pasture grounds, 
To pool and thicket, marsh and briery dell. 
And solitary valley far away. 100 

The morning came, and Sella was not found. 
The sun climbed high ; they sought her still ; the noon, 
The hot and silent noon, heard Sella's name. 
Uttered with a despairing cry, to wastes 
O'er which the eagle hovered. As the sun 105 

Stooped toward the amber west to bring the close 
Of that sad second day, and, with red eyes, 
The mother sat within her home alone, 



122 LATER POEMS 

Sella was at her side. A shriek of joy 
Broke the sad silence; glad, warm tears were shed, no 
And words of gladness uttered. " Oh, forgive," 
' The maiden said, " that I could e'er forget 
Thy wishes for a moment. I just tried 
The slippers on, amazed to see them shaped 
So fairly to my feet, when, all at once, 115 

I felt my steps upborne and hurried on 
Almost as if with wings. A strange delight, 
Blent with a thrill of fear, overmastered me, 
And, ere I knew, my splashing steps were set 
Within the rivulet's pebbly bed, and I 120 

Was rushing down the current. By my side 
°Tripped one as beautiful as ever looked 
From white clouds in a dream ; and, as we ran, 
She talked with musical voice and sweetly laughed; 
Gayly we leaped the crag and swam the pool, 125 

And swept with dimpling eddies round the rock. 
And glided between shady meadow banks. 
The streamlet, broadening as we went, became 
A swelling river, and we shot along 
By stately towns, and under leaning masts 130 

Of gallant barks, nor lingered by the shore 
Of blooming gardens; onward, onward still. 
The same strong impulse bore me, till, at last, 
We entered the great deep, and passed below 
His billows, into boundless spaces, lit 135 

With a green sunshine. °Here were mighty groves 
Far down the ocean-valleys, and between 
Lay what might seem fair meadows, softly tinged 



SELLA ' 123 

With orange and with crimson. Here arose 

Tall stems, that, rooted in the depths below, 140 

Swung idly with the motions of the sea; 

And here were shrubberies in whose °mazy screen 

The creatures of the deep made haunt. My friend 

Named the strange growths, the pretty °coralline, 

The °dulse with crimson leaves, and, streaming far, 145 

°Sea-thong and °sea-lace. Here the tangle spread 

Its broad, thick °fronds, with pleasant bowers beneath, 

And oft we trod a waste of pearly sands. 

Spotted with rosy shells, and thence looked in 

At caverns of the sea whose rock-roofed halls 150 

Lay in blue twilight. As we moved along, 

The dwellers of the deep, in mighty herds. 

Passed by us, reverently they passed us by. 

Long trains of dolphins rolling through the brine, 

Huge whales, that drew the waters after them, 155 

A torrent-stream, and hideous hammer-sharks, 

Chasing their prey ; I shuddered as they came ; 

Gently they turned aside and gave us room." 

Hereat broke in the mother : °" Sella dear. 
This is a dream, the idlest, vainest dream." 160 

" Nay, mother, nay ; behold this sea-green scarf, 
Woven of such threads as never human hand 
Twined from the °distaff. She who led my way 
Through the great waters bade me wear it horde, 
A token that my tale is true. ^And keep,' 165 

She said, ' the slippers thou hast found, for thou, 
When shod with them, shalt be like one of us. 
With power to walk at will the ocean floor, 



124 LATER POEMS 

Among its monstrous creatures, unafraid, 
And feel no longing for the air of heaven 170 

To fill thy lungs, and send the warm, red blood 
Along thy veins. But thou shalt pass the hours 
In dances with the °sea-nymphs, or go forth. 
To look into the mysteries of the °abyss 
Where never °plummet reached. And thou shalt 
sleep 17s 

Thy weariness away on downy banks 
Of sea-moss, where the °pulses of the tide 
Shall gently lift thy hair, or thou shalt float 
On the soft currents that go forth and wind 
From isle to isle, and wander through the sea.' iSo 

" So spake my fellow- voyager, her words 
Sounding like wavelets on a summer shore. 
And then we stopped beside a hanging rock. 
With a smooth beach of white sands at its foot, 
Where three fair creatures like herself were set 185 

At their sea-banquet, crisp and juicy stalks, 
°Culled from the ocean's meadows, and the sweet 
°Midrib of pleasant leaves, and golden fruits, 
Dropped from the trees that edge the southern isles, 
And gathered on the waves. Kindly they prayed 190 
That I would share their meal, and I partook 
With eager appetite, for long had been 
My journey, » and I left the spot refreshed. 

'' And then we wandered off amid the groves 
Of coral loftier than the growths of earth ; 195 

The mightiest cedar lifts no trunk like theirs, 
So huge, so high toward heaven, nor overhangs 



SELLA 125 

Alleys and bowers so dim. We moved between 

°Pinnacles of black rock, which, from beneath, 

°Molten by inner fires, so said my guide, 200 

Gushed long ago into the hissing brine. 

That quenched and hardened them, and now they stand 

Motionless in the currents of the sea 

That part and flow around them. As we went, 

We looked into the hollows of the °abyss, 205 

To which the never-resting waters sweep 

The skeletons of sharks, the long white spines 

Of narwhal and of dolphin, bones of men 

Shipwrecked, and mighty ribs of foundered barks. 

Down the blue pits we looked, and hastened on. 210 

" But beautiful the fountains of the sea 
Sprang upward from its bed : the silvery jets 
Shot branching far into the °azure brine. 
And where they mingled with it, the great deep 
Quivered and shook, as shakes the glimmering air 215 
Above a furnace. So we wandered through 
The mighty world of waters, till at length 
1 wearied of its wonders, and my heart 
Began to yearn for my dear mountain-home. 
I prayed my gentle guide to lead me back 220 

To the upper air. 'A glorious realm,' I said, 
^ Is this thou openest to me ; but I stray 
Bewildered in its vastness ; these strange sights 
And this strange light oppress me.° I must see ■ 
The faces that I love, or I shall die.' 225 

" She took my hand, and, darting through the waves, 
Brought me to where the stream, by which we came, 



126 LATER POEMS 

Rushed into the main ocean. Then began 

A slower journey upward. Wearily 

We breasted the strong current, climbing through 230 

The rapids, tossing high their foam. The night 

Came down, and in the clear depth of a pool, 

Edged with o'erhanging rock, we took our rest 

Till morning ; and I slept, and dreamed of home 

And thee. A pleasant sight the morning showed; 235 

The green fields of this upper world, the herds 

That grazed the bank, the light on the red clouds, 

The trees, with all their host of trembling leaves, 

Lifting and lowering to the restless wind 

Their branches. As I woke, I saw them all 240 

From the clear stream ; yet strangely was my heart 

Parted between the watery world and this. 

And as we journeyed upward, oft I thought 

Of marvels I had seen, and stopped and turned, 

And lingered, °till I thought of thee again; 245 

And then again I turned and clambered up 

The rivulet's murmuring path, until we came 

Beside the cottage door. There tenderly 

My fair conductor kissed me, and I saw 

Her face no more. I took the slippers off. 250 

Oh ! with what deep delight my lungs drew in 

The air of heaven again, and with what joy 

I felt my blood bound with its former glow ; 

And now I never leave thy side again !" 

So spoke the maiden Sella, with large tears .255 

Standing in her mild eyes, and in the porch 
Replaced the slippers. Autumn came and went- 



SELLA 127 

The winter passed ; another summer warmed 

The quiet pools ; another autumn tinged 

The grape with red, yet while it hung unplucked, 260 

The mother ere her time was carried forth 

To sleep among the solitary hills. 

A long, still sadness settled on that home 
Among the mountains. The stern father there 
Wept with his children, and grew soft of heart, 265 

And Sella, and the brothers twain, and one 
Younger than they, a sister fair and shy. 
Strewed the new grave with flowers, and round it set 
Shrubs that all winter held their lively green. 
Time passed; the grief with which their hearts were 
wrung 270 

°Waned to a gentle sorrow. Sella, now, 
Was often absent from the "patriarch's board; 
The slippers hung no longer in the porch; 
And sometimes after summer nights her couch 
Was found unpressed at dawn, and well they knew 275 
That she was wandering with the race who make 
Their dwelling in the waters. Oft her looks 
Fixed on blank space, and oft the ill-suited word 
Told that her thoughts were far away. In vain 
Her brothers reasoned with her tenderly : 280 

" Oh leave not thus thy kindred !'' so they prayed; 
" Dear Sella, now that she who gave us birth 
Is in her grave, oh go not hence, to seek 
Companions in that strange cold realm below, 
For which God made not us nor thee, but stay 285 

To be the grace and glory of our home." 



128 LATER POEMS 

She looked at them with those mild eyes and wept, 
But said no word in answer, nor refrained 
From those mysterious wanderings that filled 
Their loving hearts with a perpetual pain. 290 

°And now the younger sister, fair and shy, 
Had grown to early womanhood, and one 
Who loved her well had wooed her for his bride, 
And she had named the wedding day. The herd 
Had given its fatlings for the marriage feast; 295 

The roadside garden and the secret glen 
Were rifled of their sweetest flowers to twine 
The door-posts, and to lie among the locks 
Of maids, the wedding-guests, and from the bough 
Of mountain-orchards had the fairest fruit 300 

Been plucked to glisten in the °canisters. 

Then, trooping over hill and valley, came 
Matron and maid, grave men and smiling youths. 
Like swallows gathering for their autumn flight. 
In costumes of that simpler age they came, 305 

That gave the limbs large play, and wrapped the form 
In easy folds, yet bright with glowing hues 
As suited holidays. All hastened on 
To that glad bridal. There already stood 
The priest prepared to say the °spousal rite, 310 

And there the harpers in due order sat, 
And there the singers. Sella, midst them all. 
Moved strangely and serenely beautiful. 
With clear blue eyes, fair locks, and brow and cheek 
Colorless as the lily of the lakes, 315 

Yet moulded to such shape as artists give 



SELLA 129 

To beings of immortal youth. Her hands 

Had decked her sister for the bridal hour 

With chosen flowers, and lawn whose delicate threads 

Vied with the spider's spinning. °There she stood 320 

With a gentle pleasure in her looks 

As might beseem a river-nymph's soft eyes 

Gracing a bridal of the race whose flocks 

Were pastured on the borders of her stream. 

She smiled; but from that calm sweet face the smile 325 
Was soon to pass away. That very morn 
The elder of the brothers, as he stood 
Upon the hillside, had beheld the maid, 
Emerging from the channel of the brook, 
With three fresh water lilies in her hand, 330 

Wring dry her dripping locks, and in a cleft 
Of hanging* rock, beside a screen of boughs, 
Bestow the spangled slippers. None before 
Had known where Sella hid them. Thfin she laid 
The light-brown tresses smooth, and in them twined 335 
The lily-buds, and hastily drew forth 
And threw across her shoulders a light robe /" 
Wrought for the bridal, and with bounding steps 
Ran toward the lodge. The youth beheld and marked 
The spot and slowly followed from afar. 340 

Now had the marriage rite been said ; the bride 
Stood in the blush that from her burning cheek 
Glowed down the ^alabaster neck, as morn 
Crimsons the pearly heaven half-way to the west. 
At once the harpers struck their chords ; a gush 345 

Of music broke upon the air ; the youths 



130 LATER POEMS 

All started to the dance. Among them moved 

The queenly Sella with a grace that seemed 

Caught from the swaying of the summer sea. 

The young drew forth the elders to the dance, 350 

Who joined it half abashed, but when they felt 

The joyous music tingling in their veins, 

They called for °quaint old measures, which they trod 

As gayly as in youth, and far abroad ' 

Came through the open windows cheerful shouts 355 

And bursts of laughter. They who heard the sound 

Upon the mountain footpaths paused and said, 

"A merry wedding." Lovers stole away 

That sunny afternoon to bowers that edged 

The garden walks, and what was whispered there 360 

The lovers of these later times can guess. 

Meanwhile the brothers, when the merry din 
Was loudest, stole to where the slippers lay. 
And took them thence, and followed down the brook 
To where a little rapid rushed between 365 

Its borders of smooth rock, and dropped them in. 
The rivulet, as they touched its face, flung up 
Its small bright waves like hands, and seemed to take 
The prize with eagerness and draw it down. 
They, gleaming through the waters as they went, 370 
And striking with light sound the shining stones, 
Slid down the stream. The brothers looked and 

watched, 
And listened with full beating hearts, till now 
The sight and sound had passed, and silently 
And half repentant hastened to the lodge. 375 



SELLA 131 

The sun was near his set ; the music rang 
Within the dwelling still, but the mirth waned; 
For groups of guests were sauntering toward their homes 
Across the fields, and far, on hillside paths, 
Gleamed the white robes of maidens. Sella grew 380 
Weary of the long merriment ; she thought 
Of her still haunts beneath the soundless sea, 
And all unseen withdrew and sought the cleft 
Where she had laid the slippers. They were gone ! 
She searched the brookside near, yet found them not. 385 
Then her heart sank within her, and she ran 
Wildly from place to place, and once again 
She searched the secret cleft, and next she stooped 
And with spread palms felt carefully beneath 
The tufted herbs and bushes, and again, 390 

And yet again, she searched the rocky cleft. 
"Who could have taken them?'' That question 

cleared 
The mystery. She remembered suddenly 
That when the dance was in its gayest whirl, 
Her brothers were not seen, and when, at length, 395 
They reappeared, the elder joined the sports 
With shouts of boisterous mirth, and from her eye 
The younger shrank in silence. " Now, I know 
The guilty ones," she said, and left the spot. 
And stood before the youths with such a look 400 

Of anguish and reproach that well they knew 
Her thought, and almost wished the deed undone. 

Frankly they owned the charge : " And pardon us ; 
We did it all in love ; we could not bear 



132 LATER POEMS 

That the cold world of waters and the strange 405 

Beings that dwell within it should beguile 

Our sister from us.'^ Then they told her all; 

How they had seen her stealthily bestow 

The slippers in the cleft, and how by stealth 

They took them thence and bore them down the brook 410 

And dropped them in, and how the eager waves 

Gathered and drew them down; but at that word 

The maiden shrieked — a broken-hearted shriek — 

And all who heard it shuddered and turned pale 

At the despairing cry, and '^They are gone/' 415 

She said, "gone — gone for ever ! Cruel ones ! 

'Tis you who shut me out eternally 

From that serener world which I had learned 

To love so well. Why took ye not my life ? 

Ye cannot know what ye have done !" She spake 420 

And hurried to her chamber, and the guests 

Who yet had lingered silently withdrew. 

The brothers followed to the maiden's bower, 
But with a calm °demeanor, as they came. 
She met them at the door. " The wrong is great," 425 
She said, " that ye have done me, but no power 
Have ye to make it less, nor yet to soothe 
My sorrow; I shall bear it as I may, 
The better for the hours that I have passed 
In the calm region of the °middle sea. 43c 

Go, then. I need you not." They, overawed, 
Withdrew from that grave presence. Then her tears 
Broke forth a flood, as when the August cloud, 
Darkening beside the mountain, suddenly 



SELLA 133 

Melts into streams of rain. That weary night 435 

She paced her chamber, murmuring as she walked, 
" O peaceful region of the middle sea ! 

azure bowers and grots, in which I loved 
To roam and rest ! Am I to long for you. 

And think how strangely beautiful ye are, 440 

Yet never see you more ? And dearer yet, 
Ye gentle ones in whose sweet company 

1 trod the shelly pavements of the deep, 

And swam its currents, creatures with calm eyes 

Looking the tenderest love, and voices soft 445 

As ripple of light waves along the shore. 

Uttering the tenderest words ! Oh ! ne'er again 

Shall I, in your mild aspects, read the peace 

That dwells within, and vainly shall I pine 

To hear your sweet low voices. Haply now 45° 

Ye miss me in your deep-sea home, and think 

Of me with pity, as of one condemned 

To haunt this upper world, with its harsh sounds 

And glaring lights, its withering heats, its frosts, 

Cruel and killing, its delirious strifes, 455 

And all its feverish passions, till I die." 

So mourned she the long night, and when the morn 
Brightened the mountains, from her lattice looked 
The maiden on a world that was to her 
A desolate and dreary waste. That day 460 

She passed in wandering by the brook that oft 
Had been her pathway to the sea, and still 
Seemed, with its cheerful murmur, to invite 
Her footsteps thither. " Well mayst thou rejoice. 



134 LATER POEMS 

Fortunate stream!" she said, "and dance along 465 

Thy bed, and make thy course one ceaseless strain 

Of music, for thou journey est toward the deep. 

To which I shall return no more." The night 

Brought her to her lone chamber, and she knelt 

And prayed, with many tears, to Him whose hand 47° 

Touches the wounded heart and it is healed. 

With prayer there came new thoughts and new desires. 

She asked for patience and a deeper love 

For those with whom her lot was henceforth cast. 

And that in acts of mercy she might lose 47s 

The sense of her own sorrow. When she rose 

A weight was lifted from her heart. She sought 

Her couch, *and slept a long and peaceful sleep. 

At morn she woke to a new life. Her days 

Henceforth were given to quiet tasks of good 480 

In the great world. Men hearkened to her words, 

And wondered at their wisdom and obeyed, 

And saw how beautiful the law of love 

Can make the cares and toils of daily life. 

Still did she love to haunt the springs and brooks 485 
As in her cheerful childhood, and she taught 
The skill to pierce the soil and meet the veins 
Of clear cold water winding underneath. 
And call them forth to daylight. °From afar 
She bade men bring the rivers on long rows 49° 

Of pillared arches to the sultry town, 
And on the hot air of the summer fling 
The spray of dashing fountains. To relieve 
Their weary hands, she showed them how to tame 



SELLA 135 

The rushing stream, and make him drive the wheel 495 
That whirls the humming millstone and that wields 
The ponderous sledge. The waters of the cloud, 
That drench the hillside in the time of rains, 
Were gathered, at her bidding, into pools, 
And in the months of drought led forth again, 500 

In glimmering rivulets, to refresh the vales. 
Till the sky darkened with returning showers. 
So passed her life, a long and blameless life, 
And far and near her name was named with love 
And reverence. Still she kept, as age came on, 505 

Her stately presence ; still her eyes looked forth 
From under their calm brows as brightly clear 
As the transparent wells by which she sat 
So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair 
Unwrinkled features, though her locks were white. 510 
A hundred times had summer, since her birth, 
Opened the water-lily on the lakes. 
So old traditions tell, before she died. 
A hundred cities mourned her, and her death 
Saddened the °pastoral valleys. By the brook, 515 

That bickering ran beside the cottage door 
Where she was born, they reared her monument. 
Ere long the current parted and flowed round 
The marble base, forming a little isle. 
And there the flowers that love the running stream, 520 
Iris and orchis, and the cardinal-fiower. 
Crowded and hung caressingly around 
The stone engraved with Sella's honored name. 



136 LATER POEMS 



°THE DEATH OF SCHILLER 

Shortly before the death of Schiller, he ivas seized loith a strong 
desire to travel in foreign countries, as if his spirit had a presentiment 
of its approaching enlargement, and already longed to expatiate in 
a ivider and more varied sphere of existence. — William Cullen 
Bryant. 

'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh, 
The wish possessed his mighty mind, 

To wander forth wherever lie 

The homes and haunts of humankind. 



Then strayed the poet, in his dreams, 
By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves ; 

Went up the New World's forest-streams, 
Stood in the "Hindoo's temple-caves; 



Walked with the °Pawnee, fierce and °stark, 
The °sallow "Tartar, midst his herds, 

The peering Chinese, and the dark 
False "Malay, uttering gentle words. 



How could he rest ? even then he trod 
The threshold of the world unknown; 

Already, from the seat of God, "15 

A ray upon liis garments shone ; — 



THE FUTURE LIFE 137 

Shone and awoke the strong desire, 

For love and knowledge reached not here, 

Till, freed by death, his soul of fire 

Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere. 20 

Then — who shall tell how deep, how bright 

The abyss of glory opened round ? 
How thought and feeling flowed like light 

Through ranks of being without bound ? 



°THE FUTURE LIFE 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The "disembodied spirits of the dead. 
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 

And perishes among the dust we tread ? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 5 

If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ? 10 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? 



138 LATER POEMS 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 15 

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last. 

Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 20 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 

Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the °sordid cares in which I dwell 25 

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky. 

Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 30 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye. 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 35 

Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ? 



THE FOUNTAIN 139 



°THE FOUNTAIN 

Fountain, that springest on this grassy slope, 
Thy quick cool murmur mingles pleasantly, 
With the cool sound of breezes in the beech, 
Above me in the noontide. Thou dost wear 
No stain of thy dark birthplace ; gushing up 5 

From the red mould and slimy roots of earth. 
Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air, 
In winter, is not clearer, nor the dew 
That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth God 
Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright. 10 

This tangled thicket on the bank above 
Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green ! 
For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine 
That trails all over it, and to the twigs 
Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush lifts 15 
Her leafy lances; the °viburnum there, 
Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up 
Her circlet of green berries. In and out 
The °chipping sparrow, in her coat of brown. 
Steals silently, lest I should mark her nest. 20 

Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe 
Had smitten the old woods. Then hoary trunks 
Of oak, and °plane, and hickory, o'er thee held 



140 LATER POEMS 

A mighty canopy. When April winds 

Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush' 25 

Of scarlet flowers. The °tulip-tree, high up, 

Opened; in airs of June, her multitude 

Of golden chalices to humming-birds 

And silken-winged insects of the sky. 

Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in Spring. 30 
The °liverleaf put forth her sister blooms 
Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf, 
Passing to lap thy waters, crushed the flower 
Of °sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem 
The red drops fell like blood. The deer, too, left 35 

Her delicate foot-print in the soft moist mould, 
And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear. 
In such a sultry summer noon as this. 
Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped across. 

But thou hast histories that stir the heart 40 

With deeper feeling ; while I look on thee 
They rise before me. I behold the scene 
Hoary again with forests ; I behold 
The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen 
Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods, 45 

Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet. 
And slake his death-thirst. °Hark, that quick flerce cry 
That rends the utter silence ; 'tis the whoop 
Of battle, and a throng of savage men 
With naked arms and faces stained like blood, 50 

Fill the green wilderness ; the long bare arms 



THE FOUNTAIN 141 

Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arrows stream; 
Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree 
Sends forth its arrow. Fierce the fight and short, 
As is the whirlwind. Soon the conquerors 55 

And conquered vanish, and the dead remain 
Mangled by tomahawks. The mighty woods 
Are still again, the frighted bird comes back 
And plumes her wings; but thy sweet waters run 
Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes down, 60 
Amid the deepening twilight I descry 
Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard, 
And bear away the dead. The next day's shower 
Shall wash the tokens of the fight away. 

I look again — a hunter's lodge is built, 65 

With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well. 
While the meek autumn stains the woods with gold, 
And sheds his golden sunshine. To the door 
The red man slowly drags the enormous bear • 
Slain in the chestnut thicket, or flings down 70 

The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy °fells 
Of wolf and cougar hang upon the walls. 
And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh, 
That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves. 
The hickory's white nuts and the dark fruit 75 

That falls from the gray butternut's long boughs. 

So centuries passed by, and still the woods 
Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year 
Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains 



142 LATER POEMS 

Of winter, till the white man swung the axe 80 

Beside thee — signal of a mighty change. 
Then all around was heard the crash of trees, 
Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground, 
The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired 
The brushwood, or who tore the earth with ploughs. 85 
The grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green 
The blackened hill-side ; ranks of spiky maize 
Rose like a host embattled ; the buckwheat 
Whitened broad acres, sweetening with its flowers 
The August wind. White cottages were seen 90 

With rose-trees at the windows ; barns from which 
Came loud and shrill the crowing of the cock; 
Pastures where rolled and neighed the lordly horse. 
And white flocks browsed and bleated. A rich turf 
Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank, 95 

Spotted with the white clover. Blue-eyed girls 
Brought pails, and dipped them in thy crystal pool; 
And children, ruddy-cheeked and flaxen-haired. 
Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge. 

Since then, what steps have trod thy border ! Here 100 
On thy green bank, the woodman of the swamp 
Has laid his axe, the reaper of the hill 
His sickle, as they stooped to taste thy stream. 
The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still 
September noon, has bathed his heated brow 105 

In thy cool current. Shouting boys, let loose 
For a wild holiday, have °quaintly shaped 
Into a cup the folder °linden leaf, 



THE FOUNTAIN 143 

And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the wars 

Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side no 

Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to dwell 

In such a spot, and be as free as thou, 

And move for no man's bidding more. At eve, 

When thou wert crimson with the crimson sky. 

Lovers have gazed upon thee, and have thought ns 

Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully 

And brightly as thy waters. Here the sage, 

Gazing into thy self-replenished depth, 

Has seen eternal order circumscribe 

And bind the motions of eternal change, 120 

And from the gushing of thy simple fount 

Has reasoned to the mighty universe. 

Is there no other change for thee, that lurks 
Among the future ages ? Will not man 
Seek out strange arts to wither and deform 125 

The pleasant landscape which thou makest green ? 
Or shall the veins that feed thy constant stream 
Be choked in middle earth, and flow no more 
For ever, that the water-plants along 
Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain 130 

Alight to drink ? Haply shall these greeri hills 
Sink, with the lapse of years, into the °gulf 
Of ocean waters, and thy source be lost 
Amidst the bitter brine ? Or shall they rise, 
Upheaved in broken cliffs and airy peaks, 135 

Haunts of the eagle and the snake, and thou 
Gush midway from the bare and barren steep ? 



144 LATER POEMS 



THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL 

I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare the slow 
movement of time in early life and its sioift flight as it approaches old . 
age, to the drumming of a partridge or ruffed grouse in the ivoods — 
the strokes falling slow and distinct at first, and following each other 
more and more rapidly, till they end at last in a whirring sound. — 
William Cullen Bryant. 

Among our hills and valleys, I have known 
Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hands 
Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth. 
Were reverent learners in the solemn school 
Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent 5 

Seed-time and harvest, or the °vernal shower 
That darkened the brown °tilth, or snow that beat 
On the white winter hills. Each brought, in turn, 
Some truth, some lesson on the life of man. 
Or recognition of the Eternal mind lo 

Who veils his glory with the elements. 

One such I knew long since, a white-haired man, 
°Pithy of speech, and merry when he would ; 
A genial °optimist, who daily drew 
From what he saw his quaint moralities. 15 

Kindly he held communion, though so old. 
With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much 
That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget. 



THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL 145 

The sun of May was bright in °middle heaven, 
And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills, 20 
And emerald wheat-field in his yellow light. 
Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds 
Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, 
The robin warbled forth his full clear note 
For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods, 25 

Whose young and half-transparent leaves scarce cast 
A shade, gay circles of anemones 
Danced on their stalks; the °shadbush, white with 

flowers. 
Brightened the glens ; the new-leaved butternut 
And quivering poplar to the roving breeze 30 

Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields 
I saw the °pulses of the gentle wind 
On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy 
At so much beauty, flushing every hour 
Into a fuller beauty ; but my friend, 35 

The thoughtful °ancient, standing at my side, 
Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why. 

"Well mayst thou join in gladness,'' he replied, 
" With the glad earth, her springing plants and flowers. 
And this soft wind, the herald of the green 40 

Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them, 
And well mayst thou rejoice. But while the flight 
Of seasons fills and knits thy spreading frame, 
It withers mine, and thins my hair, and dims 
These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be quenched 45 
In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird?" 



146 LATER POEMS 

I listened, and from midst the depth of woods 
Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears 
A sable ruff around his mottled neck; 
Partridge they call him by our northern streams, 50 

And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat 
'Gainst his barred sides his speckled wings, and made 
A sound like distant thunder ; slow the strokes 
At first, then fast and faster, till at length 
They passed into a murmur and were still. 55 



"There hast thou," said my friend, "a fitting type 
Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know. 
But images like these revive the power 
Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days 
In childhood, and the hours of light are long 60 

Betwixt the morn and eve ; with swifter lapse 
They glide in manhood, and in age they fly; 
Till days and seasons flit before the mind 
As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm. 
Seen rather than distinguished. Ah ! I seem 65 

As if I sat within a helpless bark 
By swiftly running waters hurried on 
To shoot some mighty cliff. Along the banks 
Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock, 
Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery nooks, 70 
And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear 
Each after each, but the °devoted skiff 
Darts by so swiftly that their images 
Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell 



AN EVENING RE VERY 147 

In dim confusion; faster yet I sweep 75 

By other banks, and the great gulf is near. 

" Wisely, my son, while yet thy day's are long, 
And this fair change of seasons passes slow, 
Gather and treasure up the good they yield — 
All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts 80 

And kind affections, reverence for thy God 
And for thy brethren; so when thou shalt come 
Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring 
A mind unfurnished and a withered heart.'' 

Long since that white-haired ancient slept — but still, 85 
When the red fiower-buds crowd the orchard bough, 
And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within 
The woods, his ° venerable form again 
Is at my side, his voice is in my ear. 



AN EVENING REVERY 

This poem and that entitled " The Fountain,^' with one or two others 
in blanJc verse, loere intended by the author as portions of a larger 
poem. — William Cullen Bryant. 

The summer day is closed — the sun is set : 
Well they have done their °office, those bright hours, 
The latest of whose train goes softly out 
In the red West. The green blade of the ground 
Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig 5 



148 LATER POEMS 

Has spread its °plaited tissues to the sun; 

Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown 

And withered ; seeds have fallen upon the soil, 

From bursting cells, and in their graves await 

Their resurrection. Insects from the pools lo 

Have filled the air awhile with humming wings, 

That now are still for ever; °painted moths 

Have wandered the blue sky, and died again; 

The mother-bird hath broken for her brood 

Their prison shell, or shoved them from the nest, 15 

Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright °alcoves, 

In woodland cottages with barky walls. 

In °noisome cells of the tumultuous town. 

Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe. 

Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore 20 

Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways 

Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out 

And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends 

That ne'er before were parted ; it hath knit 

New friendships ; it hath seen the maiden plight 25 

Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long 

Had wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late 

Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word. 

That told the wedded one her peace was flown. 

Farewell to the sweet sunshine ! One glad day 30 

Is added now to Childhood's merry days, 

And one calm day to those of quiet Age. 

Still the fleet hours run on; and as I lean. 

Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit, 

By those who watch, the dead, and those who twine 35 



AN EVENING REVERT 149 

Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes 
Of her sick infant shades the painful light, 
And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath. 

Oh thou great Movement of the Universe, 
Or Change, or Flight of Time — for ye are one I 40 
That bearest, silently, this visible scene 
Into night's shadow and the streaming rays 
Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me ? 
I feel the mighty current sweep me on. 
Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar 45 

The courses of the stars ; the very hour 
He knows when they shall darken or grow bright; 
Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death 
Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, 
Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall fall 50 

From virtue ? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife 
With friends, or shame and general scorn of men — 
Which who can bear ? — or the fierce rack of pain, 
Lie they within my path ? Or shall the years 
Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace, 55 

Into the stilly twilight of my age ? 
Or do the portals of another life 
Even now, °while I am glorying in my strength, 
°Impend around me ? Oh ! beyond that °bourne, 
In the vast cycle of being which begins 60 

At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms 
Shall the great law of change and progress clothe 
Its workings ? Gently — so have good men taught — ■ 
Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide 



150 LATER POEMS 

Into the new; the eternal flow of things, 65 

Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, 
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM 

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, 
That stream with gray -green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 5 

And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 10 

My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest d^ys of liberty. 

Oh Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 15 

With which the Roman master crowned his slave 
When he took off the °gyves. A bearded man, 
°Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow. 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred 20 

With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM 151 

Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched 

His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; 

They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven. 

Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, 25 

And his °swart armorers, by a thousand fires. 

Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound, 

The links are shivered, and the prison walls 

Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth. 

As springs the flame above a burning pile, 30 

And shoutest to the nations, who return 

Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 

Thy birthright was not given by human hands : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields. 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 35 

To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
Ahd teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood. 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf. 
His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 40 

The earliest furrows on the mountain side. 
Soft with the-°deluge. Tyranny himself. 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look. 
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed. 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 45 

The grave defiance of thine elder eye. 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
But he shall fade into a feebler age; 



152 LATER POEMS 

Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, 50 

And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 

His withered hands, and from their ambush call 

His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 

°Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms, 

To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 55 

To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth. 

Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread 

That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms 

With chains concealed in°chaplets. Oh ! not yet 

Mayst thou °unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by 60 

Thy sword ; nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids 

In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 

And thou must watch and combat till the day 

Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest 

Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, 65 

These old and friendly solitudes invite 

Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 

Were young upon the un violated earth. 

And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 

Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 70 



A HYMN OF THE SEA 

The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways 
His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped 
His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath. 
That moved in the beginning o'er his face, 



A HYMN OF THE SEA 153 

Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves 5 

To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall. 

Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, 

As at the first, to water the great earth, 

And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms 

Watch its broad shadow °warping on the wind, lo 

And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear 

Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth 

Over the boundless blue, where joyously 

The bright crests of innumerable waves 

Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands 15 

Of a great multitude are upward flung 

In acclamation. I beheld the ships 

Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle, 

Or °stemming toward far lands, or hastening home 

From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze 20 

That bears them, with the riches of the land. 

And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port. 

The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail. 

°But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face 
The blast that wakes the fury of the sea ? 25 

Oh God ! thy justice makes the world turn pale, 
When on the armed fleet, that royally 
Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite 
Some city, or invade some °thoughtless realm, 
Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks 30 

Are whirled like chaff upon the waves ; the sails 
Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts 
Are snapped asunder; downward from the decks, 



154 LATER POEMS 

Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, 

Their cruel °engines ; and their hosts, arrayed 35 

In trappings of the battle-field, are °whelmed 

By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks. 

Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause, 

A moment, from the bloody work of war. 

These restless surges eat away the shores 40 

Of earth^s old continents; the fertile plain 
°Welters in shallows, headlands. crumble down, 
And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets 
Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar 
In the green chambers of the °middle sea, 45 

Where broadest spread the waters and the °line 
Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, 
Creator ! thou dost teach the coral worm 
To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age, 
He builds beneath the waters, till, at last, 50 

His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check 
The long wave rolling from the southern pole 
To break upon Japan. Thou bid'st the fires. 
That smoulder under ocean, heave on high 
The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, 55 

A place of fefuge for the storm-driven bird. 
The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts 
With herb and tree ; sweet fountains gush ; sweet airs 
Ripple the °living lakes that, fringed with flowers. 
Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look 60 

On thy creation and pronounce it good. 
Its valleys, glorious with their summer green, 



THE CROWDED STREET 155 

Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods, 

Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join 

The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn. 65 



THE CROWDED STREET 

Let me move slowly through the street, 

Filled with an ever-shifting train. 
Amid the sound of steps that beat 

The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come ! 5 

The mild, the fierce, the stony face; 

Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some 
Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest; 

To halls in which the feast is spread ; 10 

To chambers where the funeral guest 

In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair, 

Where children, pressing cheek to cheek, 

With mute caresses shall declare 15 

The tenderness they cannot speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here. 
Shall shudder as they reach the door 

Where one who made their dwelling dear, 

Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 20 



156 LATER POEMS 

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye ! 

Goest thou to build an early name, 
Or early in the task to die ? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow ! 25 

Who is now fluttering in thy snare ? 

Thy golden fortunes, tower they now. 
Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread 

The dance till daylight gleam again ? 3° 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? . 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
The cold dark hours, how slow the light, 

And some, who flaunt amid the throng, 35 

Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, who holds* them all, 

In his large love and boundless thought. 40 

These struggling tides of life that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend, 

Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 157 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 

During the stay of Long^s Expedition at Engineer Cantonment, 
three specimens of a variety of the common deer were brought in, hav- 
ing all the feet white near the hoofs, and extending to those on the hind 
feet from a little above the spurious hoofs. This white extremity was 
divided, upon the sides of the foot, by the general color of the leg, 
which extends dovjn near to the hoofs, leaving a white triangle in 
front, of which the point was elevated rather higher than the spurious 
hoofs.— Godman's Natural History, Vol. II, p. 5i4.— William Cullen 
Bryant. 

» 

It was a hundred years ago, 

When, by the woodland ways, 
The traveller saw the wild deer drink, 

Or crop the birchen sprays. 



Beneath a hill, whose rocky side 
O'erbrowed a grassy mead. 

And fenced a cottage from the wind, 
A deer was wont to feed. 



She only came when on the cliffs 
The evening moonlight lay. 

And no man knew the secret haunts 
In which she walked by day. 



158 LATER POEMS 

White were her feet, her forehead showed 

A spot of silvery white, 
That seemed to ghmmer Hke a star 15 

In autumn's hazy night. 

And here, when sang the whippoorwill, 

She cropped the sprouting leaves, 
And here her rustling steps were heard 

On still October eves. 20 

But when the broad midsummer moon 

Rose o'er that grassy lawn, 
Beside the silver-footed deer 

There grazed a spotted fawn. 

The cottage dame forbade her son ' 25 

To aim the rifle here; 
"It were a sin," she said, "to harm 

Or fright that friendly deer. 

''This spot has been my pleasant home 
Ten peaceful years and more; 30^ 

And ever, when the moonlight shines, 
She feeds before our door. 

" The red men say that here she walked 

A thousand moons ago ; 
They never raise the war-whoop here, 35 

And never tw^ng the bow. 



THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER 159 

" I love to watch her as she feeds, 

And think that all is well 
While such a gentle creature haunts 

The place in which we dwell." 40 

The youth obeyed, and sought for game 

In forests far away, 
Where, deep in silence and in moss, 

The ancient woodland lay. 

But once, in autumn's golden time, 45 

He ranged the wild in vain. 
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, 

And wandered home again. 

The crescent moon and crimson eve 

Shone with a mingling light ; 5° 

The deer, upon the grassy mead, 

Was feeding full in sight. 

He raised the rifle to his eye, 

And from the cliffs around 
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, 55 

Gave back its deadly sound. 

Away into the neighboring wood 

The startled creature flew. 
And crimson drops at morning lay 

Amid the glimmering dew. 60 



160 LATER POEMS 

Next evening shone the waxing moon 

As sweetly as before; 
The deer upon the grassy mead 

Was seen again no more. 



But ere that crescent moon was old, 65 

By night the red man came, 
And burnt the cottage to the ground, 

And slew the youth and dame. 



Now woods have overgrown the mead, 

And hid the cliffs from sight ; 70 

There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, 
And prowls the fox at night. 



THE WANING MOON 

I've watched too late; the morn is near; 

One look at God's broad silent sky ! 
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear, 

How in your very strength ye die ! 



Even while your glow is on the cheek, 
And scarce the high pursuit begun. 

The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak, 
The task of life is left undone. 



THE WANING MOON 161 

See where upon the horizon's brim^ 

Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars ; lo 

The waning moon, all pale and dim, 

Goes up amid the eternal stars. 

Late, in a flood of tender light, 

She floated through the eternal blue, 

A softer sun, that shone all night 15 

Upon the gathering beads of dew. 

And still thou wanest, pallid moon ! 

The encroacliing shadow grows apace; 
Heaven's everlasting watchers soon 

Shall see thee blotted from thy place. 20 

Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen ! 

Well may thy sad, expiring ray 
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen 

Hope's glorious visions fade away. 

Shine thou for forms that once were bright, 25 

For sages in the mind's eclipse, 
For those whose words were spells of might, 

But falter now on stammering lips ! 

In thy decaying beam there lies 

Full many, a grave on hill and plain, 30 

Of those who closed their dying eyes 

In grief that they had lived in vain. 



162 LATER POEMS 

Another night, and thou among 

The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, 

All rayless in the glittering throng 35 

Whose lustre late was quenched in thine. 

Yet soon a new and tender light 

From out thy darkened orb shall beam^ 

And broaden till it shines all night 

On glistening dew and glimmering stream. 40 



THE LAND OF DREAMS 

A MIGHTY realm is the Land of Dreams, 
With steeps that hang in the twilight sky, 

And weltering oceans and trailing streams. 
That gleam where the dusky valleys lie. 

But over its shadowy border flow 

Sweet rays from the world of endless morn, 
And the nearer mountains catch the glow, 

And flowers in the nearer fields are born. 



The souls of the happy dead repair, 

From their bowers of light, to that bordering land, 10 
And walk in the fainter glory there, 

With the souls of the living hand in hand. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS 163 

One calm sweet smile, in that shadowy sphere, 
From eyes that open on earth no more — 

One warning word from a voice once dear — 15 

How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er ! 

Far off from those hills that shine with day, 
And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales, 

The Land of Dreams goes stretching away 

To dimmer mountains and darker vales. 20 

There lie the chambers of guilty delight," 
There walk the spectres of guilty fear, 

And soft low voices, that float through the night. 
Are whispering sin in the helpless ear. 

Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower, 25 

Scarce weaned from the love of childish play ! 

The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower • 
That freshens the blooms of early May ! 

Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow 

Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, 3a 

And I know, by thy moving lips, that now 
Thy spirit strays in the Land of Dreams. 

Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet ! 

O kfeep where that beam of Paradise falls : 
And only wander where thou mayst meet 35 

The blessed ones from its shining walls ! ' 



164 LATER POEMS 

So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, 
With love and peace to this world of strife : 

And the light which over that border streams 
Shall lie on the path of thy daily life. 40 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them tenderly. 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet, 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet ; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 



What plant we in this apple-tree ? 10 

Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; 
Boughs where the ° thrush, with crimson breast, 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest ; 

We plant, upon the sunny °lea, ^ 15 

A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE 165 

What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 20 

To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard-row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors; 

A world of blossoms for the bee. 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 25 

For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, - 30 

And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky. 

While children come, with cries of glee. 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 35 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when, above this apple-tree. 
The winter stars are quivering bright. 
And winds go howling through the night, 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 40 

Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth. 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the grape of °Cintra's vine 
And golden orange of the line. 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 45 



166 LATER POEMS 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view, 
And ask in what fair groves they grew; 50 

And "sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long, long hours of summer play. 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 55 

A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 60 

Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 65 

Thin shadows on the ground below. 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still ? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the, toils, the strifes, the tears 7° 

Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this little apple-tree ? 



THE VOICE OF AUTUMN 167 

"°Who planted this old apple-tree?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 75 

And, gazing on its mossy stem, 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes, 80 

On planting the apple-tree." 



THE VOICE OF AUTUMN 

There comes, from yonder height, 

A soft repining sound. 
Where forest-leaves are bright. 
And fall, like flakes of light, 

To the ground. 5 

It is the autumn breeze, 

That, lightly floating on, 
Just skims the weedy leas, 
Just stirs the glowing trees, 

And is gone. 10 

He moans by sedgy brook, 

And visits, with a sigh. 
The last pale flowers that look, 
From out their sunny nook, 

At the sky. 15 



168 LATER POEMS 

O'er shouting children flies 
That light October wind, 
And, kissing cheeks and eyes, 
He leaves their merry cries 

Far behind, 20 

And wanders on to make 
That soft uneasy sound 
By distant wood and lake, 
Where distant fountains break 

From the ground. 25 

No bower where maidens dwell 

Can win a moment's stay ; 
Nor fair untrodden dell ; 
He sweeps the upland swell, 

And away ! 30 

Mourn' st thou thy homeless state ? 

O soft, repining wind ! 
That early seek'st and late 
The rest it is thy fate 

Not to find. 35 

Not on the mountain's breast, 

Not on the ocean's shore, 
In all the East and West : 
The wind that stops to rest 

Is no more. 40 



THE SNOW-SHOWER 169 

By valleys, woods, and springs, 

No wonder thou shouldst grieve 
For all the glorious things 
Thpu touchest with thy wings 

And must leave. 45 



°THE SNOW- SHOWER 

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, 

On the lake below thy gentle eyes; 
The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, 

And dark and silent the water lies ; 
And out of that frozen mist the snow 5 

In wavering flakes begins to flow ; 

Flake after flake 
They sink in the dark and silent lake. 

See how in a living swarm they come 

From the chambers beyond that misty veil ; 10 
Some hover awhile in air, and some 

Rush °prone from the sky like summer hail. 
All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, 
Meet, and are still in the depths below; 

Flake after flake 15 

Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. 

Here delicate °snow-stars, out of the cloud, 

Come floating downward in airy play. 
Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd 



170 LATER POEMS 

That whiten by night the °milky way; 20 

There broader and °burHer masses fall ; 
The sullen water buries them all — 

Flake after flake — 
All drowned in the dark and silent lake. 

And some, as on tender wings they glide 25 

From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, 

Are joined in their fall, and, side by side. 
Come clinging along their unsteady way; 

As friend with friend, or husband with wife, 

Makes hand in hand the passage of life ; 30 

Each mated flake 

Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. 

Lo ! while we are gazing, in swifter haste 
Stream down the snows, till the air is white, 

As, myriads by myriads madly chased, 35 

They fling themselves from their shadowy height. 

The fair, frail creatures of °middle sky. 

What speed they make, with their grave so nigh ; 
Flake after flake, 

To lie in the dark and silent lake ! 40 

I see in thy gentle eyes a tear; 

They turn to me in sorrowful thought; 
Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, 

Who were for a time, and now are not; 
Like these fair children of cloud and frost, 4S 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN' 171 

That glisten a moment and then are lost, 

Flake after flake — 
All lost in the dark and silent lake. 

Yet look again, for the clouds divide; 

A gleam of blue on the water lies ; ' 50 

And far away, on the mountain-side, 

A sunbeam falls from the opening skies, 
But the hurr3ang host that flew between 
The cloud and the water, no more is seen; , 

Flake after flake, 55 

At rest in the dark and silent lake. 

^ROBERT OF LINCOLN 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 5 

Spink, spank, spink; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, 10 

°Wearing a bright black wedding-coat ; 

White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
Hear him call in his merry note : 



172 LATER POEMS 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 15 

Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln's °Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, °with plain brown wings, 20 
Passing at home a patient life. 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 25 

Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 

One weak chirp is her only note. 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 30 

Pouring boasts' from his little throat: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! 35 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 

There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might : 40 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN 173 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frohc about. 

Chee, chee, chee. 45 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
Six wide mouths are open for food ; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 50 

Spink, spank, spink; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made ' 55 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid. 
Half forgotten that merry air : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 60 

Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

-Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 65 

Robert of Lincoln's a °humdrum crone; 

Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 



174 LATER POEMS 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 70 

Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 175 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 



The maples redden in the sun; 

In autumn gold the beeches stand ; 
Rest, faithful plough, thy work is done 

"Upon the °teeming land. 
Bordered with trees whose gay leaves fly s 

On every breath that sweeps the sky, 
The fresh dark acres furrowed lie, 

And ask the sower's hand. 
Loose the tired steer and let him go 
To pasture where the gentians blow, lo 

And we, who till the grateful ground, 
Fling we the golden shower around. 

II 

Fling wide the generous grain ; we fling 

O'er the dark mould the green of spring. 

For thick the emerald blades shall grow, 15 

When first the March winds melt the snow. 

And to the sleeping flowers, below, 

The early bluebirds sing. 
Fling wide the grain ; we give the fields 
The ears that nod in summer's gale, 20 



176 LATER POEMS 

The shining stems that summer gilds, 
The harvest that overflows the vale, 
And swells, an amber sea, between 
The full-leaved woods, its shores of green. 
Hark ! from the murmuring clods I hear 25 

Glad voices of the coming year; 
The song of him who binds the grain. 
The shout of those that load the °wain, 
And from the distant °grange there comes 

The clatter of the thresher's flail, 30 

And steadily the millstone hums 
Down in the willowy vale. 



Ill 

Fling wide the golden shower ; we trust 

The strength of armies to the dust. 

This peaceful °lea may haply yield 35 

Its harvest for the tented field. 

Ha ! feel ye not your fingers thrill. 

As o'er them, in the yellow grains, 
Glide the warm drops of blood that fill, 

For mortal strife, the warrior's veins; 40 

Such as, on °Solferino's day, 
Slaked the brown sand and flowed away — 
Flowed till the herds, on °Mincio's brink, 
Snuffed the red stream and feared to drink ; — 
Blood that in deeper pools shall lie, 45 

On the sad earth, as time grows gray, 
When men by deadlier arts shall die, 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 111 

And deeper darkness blot the sky 

Above the thundering fray; 
And realms, that hear the battle cry, 50 

Shall sicken with dismay ; 
And chieftains to the war shall lead 
Whole nations, with the tempest's speed, 

To perish in a day ; — 
Till man, by love and mercy taught, 55 

Shall °rue the wreck his fury wrought, 

And lay the sword away. 
Oh strew, with pausing, shuddering hand, 
The seed upon the helpless land, 
As if, at every step, ye cast 60 

The pelting hail and riving blast. 



IV 

Nay, strew, with free and joyous sweep. 

The seed upon the expecting soil ; 
For hence the plenteous year shall heap 

The garners of the men who toil. 65 

Strew the bright seed for those who tear 
The °matted sward with spade and share, 
And those whose sounding axes gleam 
Beside the lonely forest stream. 

Till its broad banks lie bare ; 70 

And him who breaks the quarry-ledge. 

With hammer-blows, plied quick and strong. 
And him who, with the steady sledge, 

Smites the shrill anvil all day long. 



178 LATER POEMS 

Sprinkle the furrow's even trace 75 

For those whose toihng hands uprear 
The °roof-trees of our swarming race, 

By grove and plain, by stream and °mere ; 
Who forth, from crowded city, lead 

The lengthening street, and overlay 80 

Green orchard-plot and grassy mead 

With pavement of the murmuring way. 
Cast, with full hands the harvest cast. 
For the brave men that climb the mast, 
When to the billow and the blast 85 

It swings and stoops, with fearful strain, 
And bind the fluttering mainsail fast. 

Till the tossed bark shall sit, again, 
Safe as a sea-bird on the main. 



Fling wide the grain for those who throw 90 

The clanking shuttle to and fro. 
In the long row of humming rooms, 

And into ponderous masses wind 
The web that, from a thousand looms. 

Comes forth to clothe mankind. 95 

Strew, with free sweep, the grain for them, 

By whom the busy thread 
Along the garment's even hem 

And winding seam is led; 
A pallid sisterhood, that keep 100 

The lonely lamp alight. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 179 

In strife with weariness and sleep, 

Beyond the middle night. 
Large part be theirs in what the year 
Shall ripen for the reaper here. 105 

VI 

Still, strew, with joyous hand, the wheat 
On the soft mould beneath our feet, 

For even now I seem 
To hear a sound that lightly rings 
From murmuring harp and vioFs strings, no 

As in a summer dream. 
The welcome of the wedding guest. 

The bridegroom's look of bashful pride, 

The faint smile of the pallid bride, 
And bridemaid's blush at matron's jest, 115 

And dance and song and generous °dower, 
Are in the shining grains we shower. 

VII 

Scatter the wheat for shipwrecked men, 
Who, hunger-worn, rejoice again 

In the sweet safety of the shore, 120 

And wanderers, lost in woodlands drear, 
Whose pulses bound with joy to hear 

The herd's light bell once more. 

Freely the golden spray be shed 
For him whose heart, when night comes down 125 
On the close °alleys of the town, 



180 LATER POEMS 

Is faint for lack of bread. 
In chill °roof chambers, bleak and bare, 
Or damp the cellar's stifling air, 
She who now sees, in mute despair, 130 

Her children pine for food. 
Shall feel the dews of gladness start 
To lids long tearless, and shall part 
The sweet loaf with a grateful heart, 

Among her thin pale brood. 13s 

Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till ! 
Oh, for thy famished children, fill. 

Where'er the sower walks. 
Fill the rich ears that shade the mould 
With grain for grain, a hundredfold, 140 

To bend the sturdy stalks. 



VIII 

Strew silently the fruitful seed. 

As softly o'er the °tilth ye tread, 
For hands that delicately knead 

The ^consecrated bread — 145 

The °mystic loaf that crowns the board. 
When, round the table of their Lord, 

Within a thousand temples set. 
In memory of the bitter death 
Of him who taught at Nazareth, 150 

His followers are met. 
And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet. 

As of the Holy One they think, 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER 181 

'The glory of whose rising yet 

Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink. 155 



IX 

Brethren, the sower's task is done. 

The seed is in its winter bed. 

Now let the dark brown mould be spread, 

To hide it from the sun, 
And leave it to the kindly care 160 

Of the still earth and brooding air. 
As when the mother, from her breast, 
Lays the hushed babe apart to rest. 
And shades its eyes, and waits to see 
How sweet its waking smile will be. 165 

The tempest now may smite, the sleet 
All night on the drowned furrow beat, 
And winds that, from the cloudy hold, 
Of winter breathe the bitter cold. 
Stiffen to stone the mellow mould, 170 

Yet safe shall lie the wheat; 
Till, out of heaven's unmeasured blue. 

Shall walk again the °genial year. 
To wake with warmth and nurse with dew 

The germs we lay to slumber here. 175 



Oh blessed harvest yet to be ! 

Abide thou with the Love that keeps. 



182 LATER POEMS 

In its warm bosom, tenderly, 

The Life which wakes and that which sleeps. 
The Love that leads the willing spheres i8o 

Along the unending track of years. 
And watches o'er the sparrow's nest, 
Shall brood above thy winter rest. 
And raise thee from the dust, to hold 

Light whisperings with the winds of May, 185 

And fill thy °spikes with living gold. 

From summer's yellow ray ; 
Then, as thy garners give thee forth. 

On what glad errands shalt thou go, 
Wherever, o'er the waiting earth, 100 

Roads wind and rivers flow ! 
The ancient East shall welcome thee 
To mighty °marts beyond the sea. 
And they who dwell where palm groves sound 
To summer winds the whole year round, 195 

Shall watch, in gladness, from the shore, 
The sails that bring thy glistening store. 



°NOT YET 

Oh country, marvel of the earth ! 

Oh realm to sudden greatness grown I 
The age that gloried in thy birth. 

Shall it behold thee overthrown? 



NOT YET 183 

Shall traitors" lay that greatness low? 5 

No, land of Hope and Blessing, No ! 

And we, who wear thy glorious name, 
Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, 

When those whom thou hast trusted aim 

The death blow at thy generous heart ? 10 

Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo ! 

Hosts rise in harness, shouting. No ! 

And they who founded, in our land. 
The power that rules from sea to sea. 

Bled they in vain, or vainly planned 15 

To leave their country great and free ? 

Their sleeping ashes, from below. 

Send up the thrilling murmur. No ! 

Knit they the gentle ties which long 

These sister States were proud to wear, 20 

And forged the kindly links so strong 

For idle hands in sport to tear? 
For scornful hands aside to throw ? 
No, by our fathers' memory. No ! 

Our humming marts, our iron ways, 25 

Our wind-tossed woods on mountain-crest. 

The hoarse Atlantic, with its bays. 
The calm, broad Ocean of the West, 

And Mississippi's torrent-flow. 

And loud Niagara, answer, No ! 30 



184 LATER POEMS 

Not yet the hour is nigh when they 
Who deep in °Eld's dim twihght sit, 

Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say, 
"Proud country, welcome to the °pit ! 

So soon art thou, like us, brought low !" 35 

No, sullen group of shadows. No ! 

For now, behold, the arm that gave 

The victory in our fathers' day. 
Strong, as of old, to guard and save — 

That mighty arm which none can stay — 40 
On clouds above and fields below. 
Writes, in men's sight, the answer. No ! 



^OUR COUNTRY'S CALL 

Lay down the axe ; fling by the spade ; 

Leave in its track the toiling plough; 
The rifle and the bayonet-blade 

For arms like yours were fitter now; 5 

And let the hands that ply the pen 

Quit the light task, and learn to wield 
The horseman's °crooked brand, and rein 

The charger on the battle-field. 

Our country calls ; away ! away ! 

To where the blood-stream blots the green. 10 
Strike to defend the gentlest sway 

That Time in all his course has seen. 



OUR COUNTRY^ S CALL 185 

See, from a thousand °co verts — see, 

Spring the armed foes that haunt her track ; 

They rush to smite her down, and we 15 

Must beat the banded traitors back. 

Ho ! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, 

And moved as soon to fear and flight, 
Men of the glade and forest ! leave 

Your woodcraft for the field of fight. 20 

The arms that wield the axe must pour 

An iron tempest on the foe; 
His serried ranks shall reel before 

The arm that lays the panther low. 

And ye, who breast the mountain-storm 25 

By grassy steep or highland lake, 
Come, for the land ye love, to form 

A bulwark that no foe can break. 
Stand, like your own gray cliffs that mock 

The whirlwind, stand in her defence; ^ 3° 

The blast as soon shall move the rock 

As rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 

And ye, whose homes are by her grand 

Swift rivers, rising far away. 
Come from the depth of her green land, 35 

As mighty in your march as they ; 
As terrible as when the rains 

Have swelled them over bank and °bourne. 



186 LATER POEMS 

With sudden floods to drown the plains 
And sweep along the woods uptorn. 



40 



And ye, who throng, beside the deep, 

Her ports and hamlets of the strand, 
In number like the waves that leap » 

On his long-murmuring °marge of sand — 
Come like that deep, when, o'er his brim, 45 

He rises, all his floods to pour. 
And flings the proudest barks that swim, 

A helpless wreck, against the shore ! 

Few, few were they whose swords of old 

Won the fair land in which we dwell; 50 

But we are many, we who hold 

The grim resolve to guard it well. 
Strike, for that broad and goodly land, 

Blow after blow, till men shall see 
That Might and Right move hand in hand, 55 

And glorious must their triumph be ! 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 187 



°THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 

Alice. — One of your °old world stories, Uncle John, 
Such as you tell us by the winter fire. 
Till we all wonder it is grown so late. 

Uncle John. — The story of the witch that ground to 
death 
Two children in her mill, or will you have s 

The tale of °Goody Cutpurse ? 

Alice. — Nay now, nay; 

Those stories are too childish, Uncle John, 
Too childish even for little Willy here. 
And I am older, two good years, than he ; 
No, let us have a tale of °elves that ride, lo 

By night, with jingling reins, or °gnomes of the mine, 
Or °water-fairies, such as you know how 
To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink, 
And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is, 
Lays down her knitting. 

Uncle John. — Listen to me, then. 15 

°'Twas in the olden time, long, long ago, 
And long before the great oak at our door 
Was yet an acorn, on a mountain's side 
Lived, with his wife, a cottager. They dwelt 
Beside a glen and near a dashing brook, 20 



188 LATER POEMS 

A pleasant spot in spring, where first the wren 

Was heard to chatter, and, among the grass, 

Flowers opened earliest; °but when winter came, 

That little brook was fringed with other flowers, — 

White flowers, with crystal leaf and stem, that grew 25 

In clear November nights. And, later still. 

That mountain glen was filled with drifted snows 

From side to side, that one might walk across ; 

While, many. a fathom deep, below, the brook 

Sang to itself, and leaped and °trotted on 30 

Unfrozen, o'er its pebbles, toward the vale. 

Alice. — A mountain's side, you said ; the Alps, per- 
haps, 
Or our own Alleghanies. 

Uncle John. — Not so fast. 

My young geographer, °for then the Alps, 
With their broad pastures, haply were untrod 35 

Of herdsman's foot, and never human voice 
Had sounded in the woods that overhang 
Our Alleghany's streams. I think it was 
°Upon the slopes of the great °Caucasus, 
Or where the rivulets of ° Ararat 40 

Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose - 
So high, that, on its top, the winter-snow 
Was never melted, and the cottagers 
Among the summer blossoms, far below, 
Saw its white peaks in August from their door. 45 

One little maiden, in that cottage home, 
Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb, 
Bright, restlesS; thougjitless, flitting here and there, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 189 

Like sunshine on the uneasy ocean waves, 

And sometimes she forgot what she was °bid, 50 

As AHce does. 

Alice. — Or Willy, quite as oft. 

Uncle John. — But you are older, Alice, two good years 
And should be wiser. Eva was the name 
Of this young maiden, now twelve summers old. 

Now you must know that, in those early times, 55 

When autumn days grew pale, there came a troop 
Of childlike forms from that cold mountain top ; 
With trailing garments through the air they came, 
Or walked the ground with girded loins, and threw 
Spangles of silvery frost upon the grass, 60 

And edged the brooks with glistening °parapets. 
And built it crystal bridges, touched the pool, 
And turned its face to glass, or, rising thence, 
They shook from their full laps the soft, light snow, 
And buried the great earth, as autumn winds 65 

Bury the forest floor in heaps of leaves. 

A beautiful race were they, with baby brows, 
And fair, bright locks, and voices like the sound 
Of steps on the crisp snow, in which they talked 
With man, as friend with friend. A merry sight 70 

It was, when, crowding round the traveller. 
They smote him with their heaviest snow flakes, flung 
Needles of frost in handfuls at his cheeks. 
And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath, 
Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed 75 
Their slender laugh to see him wink and grin 
And make grim faces as he floundered on. 



190 LATER POEMS 

But, when the spring came on, what terror reigned 
Among these Little People of the Snow ! 
To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire, 80 
And the soft south wind was the wind of death. 
Away they flew, all with a pretty scowl 
Upon their childish faces, to the north, 
Or scampered upward to the mountain's top. 
And there defied their enemy, the Spring ; 85 

Skipping and dancing on the frozen peaks, 
°And moulding little snow-balls in their palms. 
And rolling them, to crush her flowers below, 
Down the steep snow-fields. 

Alice. — That, too, must have been 

A merry sight to look at. 

Uncle John. — You are right, 90 

But I must speak of graver matters now. 

Midwinter was the time, and Eva stood, 
Within the cottage, all prepared to dare 
The outer cold, with ample furry robe 
Close belted round her waist, and boots of fur, 95 

And a broad kerchief, which her mother's hand 
Had closely drawn about her ruddy cheek. 
" Now, stay not long abroad," said the good dame, 
" For sharp is the outer air, and, mark me well. 
Go not upon the snow beyond the spot 100 

Where the great °linden bounds the neighboring field." 

The little maiden promised, and went forth. 
And climbed the rounded snow-swells firm with frost 
Beneath her feet, and slid, with balancing arms^ 
Into the hollows. Once, as up a drift ws 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 191 

She slowly rose, before her, in the way, 
°She saw a little creature, lily-cheeked, 
With flowing flaxen locks, and faint blue eyes. 
That gleamed like ice, and robe that only seemed • 
Of a more shadowy whiteness than her cheek. no 

On a smooth bank she sat. 

' Alice. — She must have been 

One of your Little People of the Snow, 

Uncle John. — She was so, and, as Eva now drew near, 
The tiny creature bounded from her seat ; 
'' And come," she said, " my pretty friend; to-day 115 
We will be' playmates. I have watched thee long. 
And seen how well thou lov'st to walk these drifts, 
And scoop their fair sides into little cells, 
And carve them with quaint figures, huge-limbed men. 
Lions, and °griffins. We will have, to-day, 120 

A merry ramble over these bright fields. 
And thou shalt see what thou hast never seen." 
On went the pair, until they reached the bound 
Where the great linden stood, set deep in snow. 
Up to the lower branches. "Here we stop," 125 

Said Eva, " for my mother has my word 
That I will go no farther than this tree." 
Then the snow-maiden laughed: "And what is this? 
This fear of the pure snow, the innocent snow, 
That never harmed aught living ? Thou mayst roam 130 
For leagues beyond this garden, and return 
In safety ; here the grim wolf never prowls, 
And here the eagle of our mountain crags 
Preys not in winter. I will show the way 



192 LATER POEMS 

And bring thee safely home. Thy mother, sure, 
Counselled thee thus because thou hadst no guide." 

By such smooth words was Eva won to break 
Her promise, and went on with her new friend, 
Over the glistening snow and down a bank 
Where a white shelf, wrought by the eddying wind, 
Like to a billow's crest in the great sea, 
Curtained an opening. " Look, we enter here.'' 
Arid straight, beneath the fair o'erhanging fold, 
Entered the little pair that hill of snow. 
Walking along a passage with white walls^ 
And a white vault above where °snow-stars shed 
A wintry twilight. Eva moved in awe, 
And held her peace, but the snow-maiden smiled, 
And talked and tripped along, as down the way, 
Deeper they went into that mountainous drift. 

And now the white walls widened, and the vault 
Swelled upward, like some vast cathedral dome, 
Such as the °Florentine, who bore the name 
Of heaven's most potent angel, reared, long since, 
Or the unknown builder of that wondrous °fane, 
The glory of °Burgos. Here a garden lay, 
In which the Little People of the Snow 
Were wont to take their pastime when their tasks 
Upon the mountain's side and in the clouds 
Were ended. Here they taught the silent frost 
To mock, in stem and spray, and leaf and flower, 
The growths of summer. Here the palm upreared 
Its white ^columnar trunk and spotless sheaf 
Of plume-like leaves ; here cedars, huge as those 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 193 

Of °Lebanon, stretched far their level boughs, 165 

Yet pale and shadowless; the sturdy oak 

Stood, with its huge gnarled roots of seeming strength, 

Fast anchored in the glistening bank; light sprays 

Of myrtle, roses in their bud and bloom, 

Drooped by the winding walks; 3^et all seemed wrought 170 

Of stainless °alabaster; up the trees 

Ran the lithe jessamine, with stalk and leaf 

Colorless as her flowers. " Go softly on," 

Said the snow-maiden; "touch not, with thy hand, 

The frail creation round thee, and beware 175 

To sweep it with thy skirts. Now look above. 

How sumptuously these bowers are lighted up 

With shifting gleams that softly come and go. 

These are the northern lights, such as thou seest 

In the midwinter nights, °cold, wandering flames, 180 

That float with our processions, through the air; 

And here, within our winter palaces. 

Mimic the glorious daybreak." Then she told 

How, when the wind, in the long winter nights, 

Sw^ept the light snows into the hollow dell, 185 

She and her comrades guided to its place 

Each wandering flake, and piled them quaintly up, 

In shapely °colonnade and glistening arch, 

With shadowy aisles between, or bade them grow, 

Beneath their little hands, to bowery walks 190 

In gardens such as these, and, o'er them all. 

Built the broad roof. " But thou hast yet to see 

A fairer sight," she said, and led the way 

To where a window of °pellucid ice 



194 LATER POEMS 

Stood in the wall of snow, beside their path. 19s 

" Look, but thou mayst not enter. '^ Eva looked, 
And lo ! a glorious hall, from whose high vault 
Stripes of soft light, ruddy and delicate green, 
And tender blue, flowed downward to the floor 
And far around, °as if the aerial hosts, 200 

That march on high by night, with beamy spears. 
And streaming banners, to that place had brought 
Their radiant flags to grace a festival. 
And in that hall a joyous multitude 
Of these by whom its glistening walls were reared, 205 
Whirled in a merry dance to silvery sounds, 
That rang from cymbals of transparent ice. 
And ice-cups, quivering to the skilful touch 
Of little fingers. Round and round they flew, 
As when, in spring, about a chimney-top, 210 

A cloud of twittering swallows, just returned. 
Wheel round and round, and turn and wheel again, 
Unwinding their swift track. So rapidly 
Flowed the °meandering stream of that fair dance. 
Beneath that dome of light. Bright eyes that looked 215 
From under lily brows, and gauzy scarfs 
Sparkling like snow-wreaths in the early sun, 
Shot by the window in their mazy whirl. 
And there stood Eva, wondering at the sight 
Of those bright revellers and that graceful sweep 220 
Of motion as they passed her; — long she gazed. 
And listened long to the sweet sounds that thrilled 
The frosty air, till now the encroaching cold 
Recalled ht?r to herself. " Too long, too long 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 195 

I lingered here/' she said, and then she sprang 225 

Into the path, and with a hurried step 
FoUowed it upward. Ever by her side ^ 
Her httle guide kept pace. As on they went, 
Eva bemoaned her fault ; " What must they think — 
The dear ones in the cottage, while so long, 230 

Hour after hour, I stay without ? I know- 
That they will seek me far and near, and weep 
To find me not. How could I, wickedly. 
Neglect the charge they gave me?" As she spoke, 
The hot tears started to her eyes ; she knelt 235 

In the mid path. "Father ! forgive this sin; 
Forgive myself I cannof — thus she prayed. 
And rose and hastened onward. When, at last, 
They reached the outer air, the clear north breathed 
A bitter cold, from which she shrank with dread, 240 
But the snow-maiden bounded as she felt 
The cutting blast, and uttered shouts of joy, 
And skipped, with boundless glee, from drift to drift, 
And danced round Eva, as she labored up 
The mounds of snow. "Ah me ! I feel my eyes 245 

Grow heavy,'' Eva said; "they swim with sleep; 
I cannot walk for utter weariness, 
And I must rest a moment on this bank, 
But let it not be long." As thus she spoke, 
In half-formed words, she sank on the smooth snow, 250 
V/ith closing lids. Her guide composed the robe 
About her limbs, and said : " A pleasant spot 
Is this to slumber in; on such a couch 
Oft have I slept away the winter night, 



196 LATER POEMS 

And had the sweetest dreams." So Eva slept, - 255 

But slept in death ; for when the power of frost 

Locks up the motions of the living frame, 

The victim passes to the realm of Death 

Through the dim porch of Sleep. The little guide, 

Watching beside her, saw the hues of life 260 

Fade from the fair smooth brow and rounded cheek, 

As fades the crimson from a morning cloud, 

Till they were white as marble, and the breath 

Had ceased to come and go, yet knew she not 

At first that this was death. But w*hen she marked 265 

How deep the paleness was,, how motionless 

That once lithe form, a fear came over her. 

She strove to wake the sleeper, plucked her robe. 

And shouted in her ear, but all in vain ; 

The life had passed away from those young limbs. 270 

Then the snow-maiden raised a wailing cry, 

Such as the dweller in some lonely wild, 

Sleepless through all the long December night, 

Hears when the mournful °East begins to blow. 

But suddenly was heard the sounds of steps, 275 

Grating on the crisp snow ; the cottagers 
Were seeking Eva ; from afar they saw 
The twain, and hurried toward them. As they came 
With gentle chidings ready on their lips, 
And marked that deathlike sleep, and heard the tale 280 
Of the snow-maiden, mortal anguish fell 
Upon their hearts, and bitter words of grief 
And blame were uttered : " Cruel, cruel one, 
To tempt our daughter thus, and cruel we, 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 197 

Who suffered her to wander forth alone 285 

In this fierce cold !'' They Hfted the dear child, 
And bore her home and chafed her tender limbS; 
And strove, by all the simple arts they knew, 
To make the chilled blood move, and win the breath 
Back to her bosom; fruitlessly they strove; • 290 

The little maid was dead. In blank despair 
They stood, and gazed at her who never more 
Should look on them. " Why die we not with her?" 
They said; "without her, life is bitterness." 

Now came the funeral day ; the simple folk 295 

Of all that °pastoral region gathered round 
To share the sorrow of the cottagers. 
They carved a way into the mound of snow 
To the glen's side, and dug a little grave 
In the smooth slope, and, following the bier, 300 

In long procession from the silent door, 
Chanted a sad and solemn melody : 

" Lay her away to rest within the ground. 
Yea, lay her down whose pure and innocent life 
Was spotless as these snows ; for she was reared 305 

In love, and passed in love life's pleasant spring, 
And all that now our tenderest love can do 
Is to give burial to her lifeless limbs." 

They paused. A thousand slender voices round. 
Like echoes softly flung from rock and hill, 310 

Took up the strain, and all the hollow air 
Seemed mourning for the dead ; for, on that day, 
The Little People of the Snow had come. 
From mountain-peak, and cloud, and icy hall, 



198 LATER POEMS 

To Eva's burial. As the murmur died, 315 

The funeral- train renewed the solemn chant : 

" Thou, Lord, hast taken her to be with Eve, 
Whose gentle name was given her. Even so. 
For so Thy wisdom saw that it was best 
For her and us. We bring our bleeding hearts, 320 

And ask the touch of healing from Thy hand. 
As, with submissive tears, we render back 
The lovely and beloved to Him who gave." 

They ceased. Again the plaintive murmur rose. 
From shadowy skirts of low-hung cloud it came, 325 

And wide white fields, and fir-trees capped with snow. 
Shivering to the sad sounds. They sank away 
To silence in the dim-seen distant woods. 

The little grave was closed ; the funeral train 
Departed ; winter wore away ; the spring 330 

Steeped, with her quickening rains, the violet tufts. 
By fond hands planted where the maiden slept. 
But, after Eva's burial, never more 
The Little People of the Snow were seen 
By human eye, nor ever human ear 335 

Heard from their lips articulate speech again ; 
For a decree went forth to cut them off, 
For ever, from °communion with mankind. 
The winter clouds, along the mountain-side, 
Rolled downward toward the vale, but no fair form 340 
Leaned from their folds, and, in the icy glens. 
And aged woods, under snow-loaded pines, 
Where once they made their haunt, was emptiness. 

But ever, when the wintry days drew near. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 199 

Around that little grave, in the long night, 345 

Frost-wreaths were laid and tufts of °silvery rime 
In shape like blades and blossoms of the field, 
As one would scatter flowers upon a bier. 



NOTES 

THANATOPSIS. (Page 1) 

Thanatopsis was written in the summer of 1811, when Bryant 
was but seventeen years of age. It first appeared in print in the 
NortJi American Beview for September, 1817. During the years 
which elapsed between its composition and its publication it lay 
concealed among the poet's papers at his father's home, where 
it was discovered by Dr. Bryant. In its original form it contained 
but forty-nine lines, and read differently in many places from the 
final draft. The revised form came out in 1821, in the edition of 
Bryant's poems which appeared that year. It is interesting to 
compare the two drafts, and for that purpose the first one is given 
below. Note the abrupt beginning and ending. 

" Yet a few days, and thee, 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more. 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in th' embrace of ocean shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolv'd to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrend'ring up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements. 
To be a brother to th' insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to thy eternal resting place 
201 



202 NOTES [Page 1 

Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie clown 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. — The hills, 
Kock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods — the floods that move 
In majesty, — and the complaining brooks, 
That wind among the meads and make them green, 
Are but the solemn decorations all. 
Of the great tomb of man. — The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven 
Are glowing on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
Of morning — and the Borean desert pierce — 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
That veil the Oregon, where he hears no sound 
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there, 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. — 
So shalt thou rest — and what if thou shalt fall 
Unnoticed by the living — and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? Thousands more 
Will share thy destiny. — The tittering world 
Dance to the grave. The busy brood of care 
Plod on, and each one chases as before 
His favorite phantom. — Yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee." 
The word thanatopsis comes from the Greek Qavaros (death) 

and bxpLs (view), and means a view of death, or a meditation on 

the subject of death. 



Pages 1-4] THE YELLOW VIOLET 203 

2. Communion: fellowship. 

3. various : diversified. 

10. sad images : gloomy conceptions. 

11. stern agony: the suffering preceding death. 

12. narrow house : the grave. 
22. image : form. 

28. swain : a country fellow. 

29. share: ploughshare. 

34. patriarchs : heads of families in ancient times who governed 
their descendants by paternal right. The term is usually applied 
to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and his sons. Infant world : world in 
the earliest period of its history. 

36. seers : prophets, those who foresee future events. 

40. venerable : to be regarded with awe or reverence. 

43. melancholy: sombre, gloomy. 

51. Barcan wilderness. Barca or Barka is a province in the 
eastern part of Tripoli. Nearly the whole of its area is barren. 
Bryant uses the word wilderness in the sense of desert, and vice 
versa. See 1. 1, The Prairies. 

52. continuous : unbroken. 

53. Oregon : Columbia Eiver, northwestern part of the United 
States. 

64. phantom : something which has only an apparent existence, 
an apparition. 

73. summons comes : summons is the singular form of the word 
(plural summonses) ; hence comes., not come. 

74. innumerable caravan : countless company of travellers. 

THE YELLOW VIOLET. (Page 4) 

5-12. Ere russet fields . . . the snow-bank's edges cold. Words- 
worth, in his poem To the Small Celandine., has the following 
stanza : — 



204 NOTES [Pages 4-8 

" Ere a leaf is on a bu.sh, 
In the time before the thrush 
Has a thought about her nest, 
Thou wilt come with half a call 
Spreading out thy glossy breast 
Like a careless prodigal, 
Telling tales about the sun, 
When we've little warmth, or none." 
5. russet: brown. 

8. virgin : pure, fresh. A favorite word with Bryant. 
1 7-1 9 . Yet slight thy form . . . the passing view to meet. 
Gray, in his Elegy, expresses the same thought, but in a more 
general way : — 

" Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

INSCRIPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD 
(Page 5) 
This poem first appeared with Tlianatopsis (see introductory note 
to Tlianatopsis), under the title A Fragment, a name doubtlessly 
given it by the editors. Bryant afterward gave it its present title. 
II. primal curse : a reference to the curse pronounced upon the 
earth after Adam and Eve sinned. See Gen. iii. 17. 
18. wantonness : playfulness. 
30. causey: causeway, road. 

33. fixed : permanent, established for all time. 

34. tripping. Is this an appropriate word to use in speaking of 
a stream of water ? 

TO A WATERFOWL. (Page 8) 
The lines To a Waterfowl are based on the following incident : 
On the fifteenth of December, 1815, Bryant visited Plainfield. a 
village a few miles from his home, to see what inducements it 



Pages 8-12] A WINTER PIECE 205 

offered him as a lawyer about to begin practice. Night drew on as 
he approached the place, and a feeling of loneliness and despair 
was stealmg over him, when, on looking toward the west, he saw 
a lone bird flying along the horizon. He watched it as it made its 
way across the sky, and its unwavering flight inspired him with 
renewed courage. That evening he wrote the poem. It was first 
published in the North American Review for March, 1818. 

2. last steps: explain. 

7. As darkly seen against the crimson sky. This line was first 
written, "As darkly painted on the crimson sky," but was changed 
before the poem appeared in print. Why is the present form 
superior to the original one ? 

9. plashy : watery. 

10. marge : margin, brink. 
15. illimitable : boundless. 
25. abyss : infinite space. 

GREEN RIVER. (Page 9) 

3. hie : hasten. 

13. plane-tree's speckled arms. The plane-tree, which is known 
also as the sycamore and the buttonwood, yearly detaches its 
bark in large scales, showing a white surface beneath. This gives 
the tree a spotted appearance. 

33. simpler : a person who collects medicinal plants. 

38. river-cherry : wild-cherry. 

55-58. Though forced to drudge ... are subtle and loud. It 
is readily seen in these lines that the practice of law, which Bryant 
was following at the time the poem was written (1817), was very 
distasteful to him. 

A WINTER PIECE. (Page 12) 
Note how rapidly yet how clearly the pictures are drawn. 
15. simples : medicinal plants. 



206 NOTES [Pages 12-19 

33. interposing : coming between. 
39. Albeit : although. 

74. virgin. See note on 1. 8, TJie Yellow Violet. 
88. wildered : bewildered. 
gi. sluices : sources of supply. 
109. lymph : sap. 

114. wind-flower: anemone. Called wind-flower because for- 
merly supposed to open only when the wind was blowing. 

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." (Page 16) 

The title of this poem is taken from Matt. v. 4 (the Sermon 
on the Mount). 

1. deem : think. 

2. tenor : course. Gray uses the word in his Elegij : — 

"Along the even tenor of their way." 

13. bier : a vehicle on which the dead are borne to the grave, a 
hearse. 

"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE." (Page 17) 

The title of this poem is taken from Deut. xxxiv. 6, and 
refers to the burial of Moses.' Because of his sin in claiming for 
himself the credit due God for the gift of water at Meribah in the 
wilderness, Moses was refused the privilege of entering the prom- 
ised land. He was permitted to see it, however, viewing it from 
the height of Pisgah near Jericho. Here God buried him, 

6. Moab's rocks. Moab was a small district bordering the 
Dead Sea on the east. It is now a part of Asiatic Turkey. 

HYMN TO DEATH. (Page 19) 

16-17. True it is . . . thy conquests : a reference to the death 
of the poet's sister, who died in her twenty-second year. She was 
his favorite companion in his boyhood. 



Page 19] HYMN TO DEATH 207 

27. ripe : full-grown. 

48-49. Nimrod : a Biblical character who ek,rly in the history of 
the human family ruled over a considerable part of southwest 
Asia. He is commonly spoken of as a mighty hunter. See Gen. 
X. 8-9. Sesostris : also known as Rameses II., a celebrated 
king of Egypt, who reigned about 1400-1350 b.c. He gained re- 
nown both as a warrior and as a builder. It was under his rule 
that the children of Israel met with the severe persecution that led 
them to flee from the land. See Encyclopaedia or Ancient History. 
the youth . . . from Libyan Ammon : Alexander the Great of 
Macedonia (356-323 b.c), the greatest military leader of ancient 
times. With an army of a few thousand soldiers he conquered 
the known world. In the midst of his success he visited the temple 
of Jupiter Amnion (a heathen deity represented in the form of a 
ram or of a human being with a ram's head) in the Libyan desert, 
where he was addressed by the priest in charge as a son of the god. 
From that time he is said to have demanded the homage accorded 
a deity. See Encyclopsedia or Ancient History. 

60. fanes: cathedral. 

75. extortioner's hand: an extortioner is one who takes by 
force. 

76. perjurer : one who swears falsely. 

77. lithe : cunning, treacherous, voluble : fluent. 
80. calumnies : malicious reports, slanders. 

106. felon's latest breath : a felon is a criminal whose offence is 
of a serious nature. 

109. obloquy : slander. 

113. whelm: ingulfed, overwhelmed. 

128. green pupilage : early period of study. 

137. For he is in his grave. The poet's father died on March 20, 
1820. See Birth and Parents in the Biographical Sketch given in 
the Introduction. 

140. Untimely : unseasonably, prematurely. 



208 NOTES [Pages 19-25 

• 147. deemed. See note on 1. 1, '■'■Blessed are theij that Mourn.'''' 
167. desultory : disconnected, without logical sequence. 

THE AGES. (Page 25) 

The Ages was recited before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Har- 
vard University in 1821. It is the custom of that society to invite 
some eminent literary man to deliver its annual address, and as 
Bryant was regarded as the leading American poet at the time, the 
invitation was extended to him. 

15. mimic canvas : painting. 

27. palm: victory. The palm has long been regarded as the 
symbol or token of victory, supremacy, or triumph. 

44. prodigal : lavish, 

68-70. Unwinds the eternal dances . . . sun's broad circle: 
traces out the movements of the heavenly bodies. 

94. reverent: humble, respectful. 

109-119. Those ages have no memory . . . but the eternal 
tombs remain : a reference to the ruins of temples and statues, 
the mausoleums and the pyramids of Egypt. See Ancient History. 

136-141. Oh, Greece ! thy flourishing cities ... in distant 
climes : a reference to the struggle for supremacy between Athens 
and Sparta, the oppression of the m.asses of the people by the few 
who ruled, and the institution Ostracism. See Ancient History. 

174. pattered: muttered. 

178. orgies: drunken revelries. 

183. Etrurian : of Etruria, an ancient country in the west-cen- 
tral part of Italy. 

187. Arno's classic side. The Arno (formerly Arnus) is a small 
river in west-central Italy. Next to the Tiber it was the most cele- 
brated river in the Roman Empire. 

191. stole: a narrow band of silk or other material, worn by 
priests over the shoulders and hanging down in front to the knees 
or below them. 



Pages 25-41] THE RIVULET 209 

194. dole : lot, fate. 

196. mitre's kind control: the kind control of the priesthood. 
A mitre is a covering for the head, worn by church dignitaries. 
It is a high cap with two points or peaks. 

199-207. At last the earthquake . . . dissolves the flaxen 
thread : a reference to the downfall of the pope as a temporal 
ruler. See Mediaeval History. 

211. Asian monarch's chain : a reference to the Christ. 

236. ancient : that has been of long duration. 

244. yon bright blue bay : Massachusetts Bay. 

250. tawny : of a dull, yellowish brown color. 

255. interminable : boundless. 

265. disembowered : deprived of or removed from a bower. 



ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION 

(Page 39) 

This ode was sung at the Cattle Show of the Berkshire Agricul- 
tural Society in 1823. 

3. sages : wise men. 

8. laurels : evergreen shrubs, the leaves of which were used as 
symbols of victory by the ancient Greeks. 

14. diadem : crown. Used here to signify royal power, wane : 
decline, decrease. 

THE RIVULET. (Page 41) 

The rivulet celebrated in this poem ran within a few yards of 
the Bryant homestead at Cummington. 
13. vernal hymn: song of spring. * 
19. Duly: in a proper manner. 
49. ground-bird: ground-sparrow. 



210 NOTES [Pages 44-49 



MARCH. (Page 44) 

5. passing: exceedingly. 

9-10. For thou to northern lands . . . sun dost bring. On or 

about March 21 the sun crosses the equator on its way north. 

SUMMER WIND. (Page 45) 

9. potent fervors : powerful heat. 
II. declines: droops. 

16. brazen: dazzling, as if made of brass. Coleridge, in his 
Bime of the Ancient Mariner, uses the expression, " All in a hot 
and copper sky." 

22. virgin. See note on 1. 8, The Yellow Violet. 

25. voluble. See note on 1. 77, Hymn to Death. 

27-28. Is it that ... He hears me ? a reference to the Greek 
myth which taught that the winds were confined in a cavern. See 
^olus in Classical Dictionary. 

"I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG" 

(Page 47) 

2. witchery : enchantment, fascination. 

3. lore : knowledge pertaining to a particular subject. 

6. Consorts : associates with. 

7. deemed. See note on 1. 1, ^'- Blessed are thetj that Mourn.'''' 

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. (Page 49) 

17. tilth: cultivated land. 

27. pinnacles: sharp projections. 

30. middle : in the midst of. 

31. capitals: tops, heads. 
35. beetling: overhanging. 



Pages 49-55] TO A CLOUD 211 

42. beautiful river : the Housatonic. See introductory note to 
the poem. 

49. reverend: enforcing reverence or awe by the appearance. 

99. deemed. See note on 1. 1, " Blessed are they that Mourn.'''' 

100-103. Like worshippers . . . earth o'erlooking mountains: 
a reference to the early Greeks' belief that their gods and goddesses 
lived on the summit of Mount Olympus. 

loi. affect : take possession. 

136. hapless : unfortunate. 

SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON. (Page 54) 

The Amazons were a legendary nation of female warriors who 
lived in the region north and east of the Black and the Caspian 
seas. The name is now applied to any woman who takes part in 
war. 

2. scimitar : a sabre with a much-curved blade. It is a favorite 
weapon of the Turks, Arabs, and Persians. 

3. flower : prime of life. 

14. virgin. See note on 1. 8, The Yellow Violet. 

21. virgin : maiden. 

23. Othman : Turkish. Commonly written Ottoman. 

25. lute : a mediaeval stringed instrument. 

TO A CLOUD. (Page 55) 

In connection with the study of this poem, read Shelley's poem 
entitled The Cloud. 

17. Andalusia : one of the kingdoms or great divisions of Spain. 
It is in the southern part. 

22-28. O'er Greece long fettered . . . and they are broke. The 
Greeks were conquered by the Turks in the fifteenth century, and 
were held in subjugation until 1820, when they arose in revolt, and 
after much desperate fighting regained their independence in 1829. 



212 NOTES [Pages 55-59 

The struggle was watched with great interest by many countries, 
and was made the theme of many poems and orations. See Hal- 
leck's 3Iarco Bozzaris^ Bryant's The Greek Partisan, and Web- 
ster's The Bevolution in Greece. 

27. Othman. See note on 1. 23, Song of the Greek Amazon. 

33. meteor: used here as a synonym for cloud. The term is 
applied to any transient phenomenon or appearance in the atmos- 
phere or above it, as clouds, rain, shooting-stars, etc. See Dic- 
tionary. 

HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. (Page 57) 

6. constellations : groups of fixed stars. 

18. virgin orb: pure sphere, main: sea, ocean. 

20. kindling air : air that is becoming heated. 

24. shapes : forms, figures, 

37. bards : poets. 

38. Sages. See note on 1. 3, Ode for an Agricultural Celebra- 
tion. 

A FOREST HYMN. (Page 59) 

2. shaft : pillar, column, architrave : beam resting on columns 
and supporting the upper part of a building. 

29. century-living. Note how by setting this epithet in contrast, 
the great age of the forest trees is impressed upon us. 

34-36. These dim vaults . . . Report not. These lines origi- 
nally read : — 

"Here are seen 
No traces of man's pomp or pride. No silks 
Rustle ; no jewels shine ; nor envious eyes 
Eucounter." 

They were changed at the suggestion of Christopher North who, 
in reviewing Bryant's poems in BlackicoocVs Magazine (April, 
1832), said, "Such sarcastic suggestions jar and grate; and it 
would please us much to see that they were omitted in a new edi- 



Pages 59-67] THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 213 

tion. The grandeur of the grove temple and the serenity of the 
grove v^orship needed not such paltry contrasts to make them 
impressive." 

57. annihilated : reduced to nothing. 

57-61. not a prince . . . graced him. Lord North also objected 
to these lines. (See note on 11. 34-36.) " Can an American Repub- 
lican," he asked, "not forget his scorn of European kings even in 
the living temple of God ? " 

66. emanation: a bursting forth. 

86. Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre. This line origi- 
nally read, "Upon the sepulchre and blooms and smiles." What 
objection may be offered to this form ? 

"OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS." (Page 63) 

This poem, written in 1820, vp^as addressed to Miss Frances Fair- 
child of Great Barrington, to whom the poet was married in 1821. 

JUNE. (Page 64) 

5, that in flowery June. The poet's wish to die in June was 
granted, his death occurring on June 12, 1878. See Death in 
Introduction. 

51. circuit : extent. 

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. (Page 67) 

2. sere : dry, withered. 

13. wind-flower. See note on 1. 114, A Winter Piece. 

18. upland : high land, glade: an open space in a forest cov- 
ered with grass. glen : a depression between hills, a narrow 
valley. 

22. smoky : having the appearance of smoke, hazy. 

25. And then I think of one. See n6te on 11. 16-17, Hymn to 
Death. 

29. unmeet : out of place. 



214 NOTES [Pages 72-78 



A MEDITATION ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL. (Page 72) 

5. Lalla Rookh : the title of a long and rather laborious poem 
by Thomas Moore. 

12. Tiverton : one of the townships of Newport County, Rhode 
Island. 

57. Adams : probably John Adams. La Fayette : Marquis de 
La Fayette, a French nobleman who aided the Americans in the 
Revolutionary War. He revisited the United States in 1824. 

62. chapeau bras : a hat so made that it can be compressed and 
carried under the arm. Such hats were particularly worn on 
dress occasions by gentlemen in the eighteenth century. Now worn 
in the United States army by general and staff oflBcers. The name 
comes from the French words chapeau and 6ras. 

81. Havre : a seaport in France at the mouth of the Seine. 

82. spinning- jenny : a machine for spinning wool or cotton. 

87. "ruler of the inverted year " : from Book IV. of The Task, 
by William Cowper (1731-1800). 

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. (Page 76) 

5. hang-bird : the Baltimore oriole, which suspends its nest 
from a branch of a tree. 

8. wilding bee : wild bee ; wild in the sense of not domesticated. 

g. azure : blue. 

12. aspen bower : a shady recess formed by aspen or poplar 
trees. 

THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS 

(Page 78) 

17-19. the imperial star of Jove : the planet Jupiter. Jove 
was the highest god of the Romans, the supreme ruler of heaven 
and earth. He was called Jupiter by the Greeks, she . . . Pours 



Pages 78-84] A SCENE ON THE HUDSON 215 

forth the light of love : Venus, the most brilliant of the planets. 
Venus was the Roman goddess of love. 

42. dog-star : the star Sirius or Canicula, the brightest of the 
fixed stars, and the chief star of the constellation Canis Major. 
It was regarded by the Romans as the cause of the diseases com- 
mon in the months of July and August, which period they termed 
dog days. 

59-60. Happy they Born at this hour. The Romans believed 
that a person's life was greatly influenced by the star under whose 
ascendency he was born. 

" The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings." 

— Act I., So. II., Julius CsBsar. 

64. Hapless Greece. , This poem was written in 1826 while the 
Greeks were struggling against Turkey for their independence. 
See note on 11. 22-28, To a Cloud. 

87. Missolonghi. The town of Missolonghi was captured by the 
Turks in 1826 after a ten months' siege. 

A SUMMER RAMBLE. (Page 81) 

29. thou : the poet's wife. 

50. sabbath: repose. 

53. deem. See note on 1. 1, ^'■Blessed are they that Mourn.'''' 

A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON 

(Page 84) 

12. Suspended in the mimic sky : reflected in the water. 

13. void : empty space. 

24. insatiate : incapable of being satisfied. 



216 NOTES [Pages 85-88 



WILLIAM TELL. (Page 85) 
"William Tell, a celebrated Swiss hero and patriot, was born in 
the latter part of the thirteenth century. In 1307 he joined a 
league organized to oppose the Austrian governor, Gessler, whose 
tyranny was unbearable. Legend says that for refusing to bow to 
the governor's cap, he was condemned to shoot an apple from his 
son's head with a bow and arrow, a feat which he easily performed. 
Determined on revenge, however, if he injured his child, he con- 
cealed a second arrow under his cloak, which was discovered. He 
admitted that it was intended for Gessler, and for this was taken 
a prisoner on board the governor's vessel. But a violent storm 
arising, he was required to steer the boat, and, watching his chance, 
sprang ashore. Hiding himself, he awaited his opportunity, and 
when Gessler attempted to land, shot him dead. These incidents 
form the subject of Schiller's most popular drama, William Tell. 

THE PAST. (Page 86) 
13. Thou hast my better years. This poem was written in 1828, 
when Bryant was thirty-four years of age. 
25. abysses : depths. 
40. inexorable : relentless, unyielding. 
51. Alone : only. 

54. Him : the poet's father. See note on 1. 187, Hymn to 
Death. 

55. her : the poet's sister. See note on 11. 16-17, Hymn to Death. 

THE HUNTER'S SERENADE. (Page 88) 

I . bower : an attractive abode or retreat. 

4. savanna's side : a savanna is a tract of land covered with 
vegetable growth, but without trees. 

15. papaya : a tree of the western and southern United States, 
which yields a sweet edible fruit. Commonly written papaw. 



Pages 88-95] SONG OF MARION^S MEN 217 

46-47. The solitary mound . . . the elder world : a reference 
to the mounds found in various places in the Mississippi Valley. 
They were built by a race of people that occupied the land before 
the coming of the Indians. 

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. (Page 93) 

8. ground-bird. See note on 1. 49, The Bivulet. 
II. portend : foretell. 

15-16. Blue, blue as if . . . from its cerulean wall. In the 
poem. Hie Pressed Gentian^ Whittier uses these lines : — 

*' As fair as when beside its brook 
The hue of bending skies it took." 

16. cerulean : azure, blue. 

THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. (Page 94) 

On December 22, 1620, the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, 
Massachusetts. Compare Bryant's treatment of the event with 
that of Mrs. Felicia Hemans, given in her poem. The Landing of 
the Pilgrim Fathers in New England. 

9. bays : wreaths of laurel, the symbol of victory,- excellence, 
and renown due to achievement. 

SONG OF MARION'S MEN. (Page 95) 

3. The British soldier trembles. In the edition of Bryant's 
poems published in England, in 1832, this line read, "The foeman 
trembles in his camp." The change was made by Irving, who 
edited the book, because the publisher refused to print it as it 
stood. 

13. Woe to the English soldiery. This line was changed to 
" Woe to the heedless soldiery " in the edition referred to above. 

30. up : over, at an end. 



218 NOTES [Pages 95-98 

41. barb : horse. The word is contracted from Barbary, the 
name of a vast territory in the northern part of Africa, which was 
once noted for its fine breed of horses. 

49. Santee : river in South Carolina. 

THE PRAIRIES. (Page 98) 

I. Desert: wilderness. 

4. I behold them for the first. In 1832 Bryant made his first 
excursion west of the Alleghanies, visiting his brothers, who had 
become the proprietors of a large landed estate in Illinois. It was 
while on this visit that he wrote The Prairies. 

7. undulations : having the appearance of waves. 

8-10. As if the ocean . . . motionless forever. Any one who 
has seen both the prairie and the ocean cannot help but appreciate 
this comparison. 

13. The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye. The prairies of 
the West, with an undulating surface, rolling prairies., as they are 
called, present to the unaccustomed eye a singular spectacle when 
the shadows of the clouds are passing rapidly over them. The 
face of the ground seems to fluctuate and toss like billows of 
the sea. 

17-18. the prairie-hawk . . . yet moves not. The prairie- 
hawk sometimes balances himself in the air for hours together, 
apparently over the same spot, probably watching his prey. 

20. crisped : caused to ripple, limpid : clear. 

21. Sonora : a district in the northwestern part of Mexico. 
31. constellations. See note on 1. 6, Hymn to the North Star. 
38. sacrilegious : impious, profane. 

45-46. A race, that long . . . Built them. The size and extent 
of the mounds in the valley of the i\Iississippi indicate the exist- 
ence, at a remote period, of a nation at once populous and enter- 
prising within its borders. 



Pages 98-102] THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES 219 

48. Pentelicus : a mountain near Athens, famous for its marble. 

50. Parthenon : celebrated marble temple built at Athens in 
honor of Athene, the patron goddess of that city. See Greek 
History. 

70. beleaguerers : besiegers. 

71. forced : captured by assault, stormed. 

80-81. the rude conquerors . . . with their chiefs. Instances 
are not wanting of generosity like this among the Indians toward a 
captive or survivor of a hostile tribe. 

94. gave back : reflected. 

95. Missouri's springs : sources of the Missouri. 

96. issues: the water that flows out. Oregon. See note on 1. 53, 
Thanatopsis. 

97. He rears his little Venice : builds his home in the midst of 
the water. Venice, a city in northeastern Italy, is built on piles in 
the midst of a great marsh. 

112. savannas. See note on 1. 4, The Hunter'' s Serenade. 

THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. (Page 102) 

9. savannas. See note on 1. 4, The Hunter'' fi Serenade. 

23. brinded : of a gray or tawny color with streaks of darker 
hue, brindled, catamount : the cougar. The name is also applied 
in some parts of the United States to the lynx or wild-cat. 

25. plane : also known as the sycamore and buttonwood. 

27. cumbered : burdened. 

33. Fire : prairie-fire. sere. See note on 1. 2, The Death of the 
Flowers. 

39. I meet the flames with flames again. Travellers upon the 
prairies, when about to be overtaken by a prairie-fire, frequently 
save themselves by setting fire to the grass to the windward and 
following the flames. When the approaching fire reaches the space 
that has been burned over, it of course dies. 

51. maze : network, labyrinth. 



220 NOTES [Pages 105-100 



SEVENTY-SIX. (Page 105) 

Seventy-six deals with the influence exercised by the adoption 
of the Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776. 

5. yeoman's iron hand : the strength of the common people. 
7. ocean-mart : a seaport. 

26, Already had the strife begun. The War of the Revolution 
began in April, 1775. 

27. Concord's plain : a few miles northwest of Boston. Scene 
of the first battle of the war. 

29. Lexington : village near Concord. Scene of a battle on the 
same day that the fight occurred at Concord. 
31. vernal sward : fresh spring turf. 

TO THE APENNINES. (Page 106) 

This poem was written in Italy in 1835, while the poet was on 
his first visit to Europe. 

I. Apennines : a range of mountains extending almost the whole 
length of Italy. 

5. Peruvian : of Peru, a country in the western part of South 
America. 

6. virgin. See note on 1. 8, Uie Yellow Violet. 

7. aerial : reaching far into the air, lofty. 
14. Etrurian. See note on 1. 183, The Ages. 
20. hind : female of the red deer. 

25. Asian horde: the Huns, who in 375 a.d. swept into Europe 
from Asia, defeated the Goths, and later, under the leadership of 
Attila, overran the greater part of Europe, including Italy. They 
subdued the Romans and compelled them to pay tribute. 

26. Libyan : of Libya. Libya was the ancient Greek name of 
that part of northern Africa which lies between Egypt and the 
Atlantic. Carthage, whose forces under Hannibal invaded Italy, 



Pages 106-110] CATTERSKILL FALLS 221 

and almost conquered the Romans, was situated in that region. 
Scythian : a member of an ancient nomadic race which lived on 
the plains north and northeast of the Black Sea. Gaul : an inhab- 
itant of ancient Gaul, a country that was made up of what is now 
France, Belgium, northern Italy, and parts of Switzerland, Ger- 
many, and Holland. The Gauls and the Romans fought many 
bloody wars. 

31. beleaguering : besieging. 

34. the curse of Cain : the infamy ascribed to murderers. Ac- 
cording to the Bible, Cain was the first murderer in the history of 
the human race. See Gen. iv. 8-11. 

39. Jove. See note on 1. 18, The Conjunction of Jupiter and 
Venus. Bacchus : the Roman god of wine. He was known as 
Dionysus by the Greeks. Pan : the Greek god of pastures, forests, 
and flocks. Called Inuus by the Romans. 

41. middle. See note on 1. 30, Monument Mountain. 

CATTERSKILL FALLS. (Page 110) 

Catterskill Falls are in the midst of the Catskill Mountains, 
southeastern New York. The name is now written Kaaterskill 
Falls. 

25. mien : appearance. 

32. linden : the lime-tree. The American species is commonly 
called the basswood. 

37. crescent : a term applied to the moon while on the increase 
during the first quarter. 
46. pensive : thoughtful and somewhat melancholy. 

74. quaint : odd. 

75. mail : armor composed of rings of metal. 
78. carbine : a short rifle. 

87. phantom: ghostly. 

95. phantoms. See note on 1. 64, Thanatopsis. 

114. stagnant: without current or motion. 



222 NOTES [Pages 115-118 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. (Page 115) 

4. battle-cloud : the cloud of smoke produced by the discharge 
of guns. 

12. kine: cows. 

14. wain : wagon used to carry provisions, etc. 

25. proof : trial, test. 

28. sage. See note on 1. 3, Ode for an Agricultural Celebration. 

SELLA. (Page 118) 

5-41. Note the many references in these lines to Sella's love for 
the water. 

12. A sweet eternal murmur. Wordsworth in his Tintern 
Abbey uses the expression, " With a soft inland murmur." Which 
is the more musical ? 
. 22. passionless. What conception does this word give us of 
Sella ? graved : carved. 

23. niches : cavities or hollow places in a wall, in which to place 
statues, vases, etc. 

29. wells : pools. 

31-32. And, deep beyond . . . blue space. Note how prettily 
the poet has described the reflection of the clouds in the water. 

35. with a stripe of green : with grass along its borders. 

38. sylvan lakelet : small lake surrounded with woods. 

40. shallop : boat. The word is a general one, including boats 
of all sizes from a canoe to a yacht. 

62. quarry: an example of hietonymy, i.e. the container is used 
in place of the thing contained. 

72. Magical footgear is common in mythological literature, 
^e.g. Hiawatha's enchanted moccasins, Mercury's winged sandals, 
Cinderella's glass slippers. 
^82. I cannot see thy name. Note how Sella's fairylike nature 



Page 118] SELLA 223 

is brought out by having that of her unimaginative mother placed 
in contrast. 

88. contexture : the manner in which the slippers were made. 

g6. sounding : an especially effective word. 

122-123. Tripped one as beautiful ... in a dream. Mark the 
vagueness of the description given of the river-nymph. Why is it * 
not made more definite ? 

136-216. Compare the description given in these lines of the 
wonders of the ocean with the one in chapters 15-16, Verne's 
Twenty Thousand Leagues unde7' the Sea. 

142. mazy screen : network of foliage. 

144. coralline : a submarine plant consisting of many jointed 
branches. 

145. dulse : a seaweed of a reddish brown color. 

146. sea-thong : a kind of blackish seaweed found on the north- 
ern coasts of the Atlantic, sea-lace : also a blackish seaweed. 

147. fronds: foliage. 

159-160. Sella, dear . . . vainest dream : Sella's mother again^ 
brought in in contrast. See note on 1. 82 above. 

163. distaff : the staff for holding the wool or flax from which 
the thread is drawn in spinning by hand. 

173. sea-nymphs : imaginary deities, who, according to the early 
Greeks, lived in all parts of the sea. 

174. abyss. See note on 1. 25, The Past. 

175. plummet: the lead attached to a sounding line. 

177. pulses of the tide : the rising and falling movements of the 
tide in its ebb and flow. 

187. Culled : selected. 

188. Midrib : the middle rib or nerve of a leaf. 

199. Pinnacles. See note on 1. 27, Monument Mountain. 

200. Molten by inner fires : reduced to a liquid state by heat in 
the interior of the earth. 

205. abyss. See note on 1. 25, The Past. 



224 NOTES [Pages 118-13(3 

213. azire. See note on 1. 9, Tlie Gladness of Nature. 
224-22J. I must see . . . or I shall die. Such touches as this 
^keep us from losing sight of the fact that Sella is a human being. 
245. till I thought of thee again. See note on 11. 224-225 
above. 

271. Waned: diminished. 

272. patriarch's board. Patriarch, as used here, means a vener- 
able old man. For another use of the word, see 1. 34, Thanatox>sis. 

291-294. And now the younger sister . . . named the wedding- 
day. Note the introduction of the younger sister, possessed of all 
I the characteristics common to an ordinary being. She serves the 
"same purpose as the mother. See note on 1. 82 above. 

301. canisters: small baskets made of reeds, rushes, or willow 
twigs. 

310. spousal rite : marriage ceremony. 

320-326. There she stood . . . soon to pass away : the turning 
^ point in the .story. Sella seems about to be lost to us as a human 
being when she is suddenly separated from her fairy land by an 
act of her brothers. 

343. alabaster: white. 

353. quaint old measures : strange old tunes. 

424. demeanor: behavior, 

430. middle. See note on 1. 30, 3Ionument Mountain. 

489-491. From afar . . . pillared arches: bade them build 
aqueducts. 

515. pastoral: rural, of the country. 

THE DEATH OF SCHILLER. (Page 136) 

Schiller, the great national poet of Germany (1759-1805), was 
noted for his deep and earnest sympathy with all mankind. 

Give careful attention to the epithets used in describing the dif- 
ferent peoples spoken of in the poem. 



(Pages 136-139] THE FOUNTAIN 225 

8. Hindoo: native inhabitant of Hindostan (British India). 

g. Pawnee : Indian belonging to Pawnee tribe, whose former 
home was along the Platte River, but now in Indian Territory. 
stark: strong, vigorous. 

lo. sallow: having a yellow color. Tartar: name applied to 
members of various Mongolian races in Asia and Europe. 

12. Malay: one of a race of a brown or copper complexioh in 
the Malay Peninsula (southeastern Asia), and the western islands 
of the Indian Archipelago. 



THE FUTURE LIFE. (Page 137) 

This poem, written in 1839, was addressed to Mrs. Bryant. 
2. disembodied : divested of the body. 

25. sordid: dull. 

THE FOUNTAIN. (Page 139) 

In connection with the study of this poem read Whittier and 
Lowell's poems by the same title. 
16. viburnum : a flowering shrub. 
19. chipping-sparrow : commonly called chippy. 
23. plane. See note on 1. 25, The Hunter of the Prairies. 

26. tulip-tree : a large tree, found in America, bearing tuliplike 
flowers. Sometimes called whitewood. 

31. liver-leaf: same as liverwort. Belongs to a natural order 
of plants of which the buttercup is the type. Its flowers are bluish 
white. 

34. sanguinaria : the blood-root. It bears a delicate white 
flower of a musky scent, the stem of which breaks easily, and dis- 
tils a juice of a bright red color. 

47-57. Hark, that quick fierce cry . . . Mangled by toma- 
hawks. Note the rapidity of movement in this description. 
Q 



226 NOTES [Pages 139-15U 

71. fells : skins with the hair on, pelts. 

107. quaintly: gracefully, neatly. 

108. linden-leaf. See note on 1. 32, Catterskill Falls. 

THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. (Page 144) 

6. vernal : spring. 

7. tilth. See note on 1. 17, Monument Mountain. 

13. Pithy: forceful, full of energy. 

14. optimist : one who looks on the bright side of things, — 
opposed to pessimist. 

19. middle. See note on 1. 30, Monument Mountain. 

28. shadbush: a name given to a flowering shrub because its 
blossoms appear at about the time the shad ascend the rivers to 
spawn. 

32. pulses : rise and fall. See note on 1. 177, Sella. 

36. ancient : aged man. 

72. devoted : doomed. 

88. venerable. See note on 1. 40, Thanatopsis. 

AN EVENING REVERY. (Page 147) 
2. office: duty. 
6. plaited tissues : leaf-buds. 
12. painted: marked with bright colors. 

16. alcoves : small rooms commonly used for sleeping rooms. 
18. noisome cells : unhealthful rooms. 

58. while I am glorying in my strength. An Evening Bevery 
was written in 1840 when the poet was forty-five years of age. 

59. Impend around: threaten from near at hand, bourne: 
boundary. 

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. (Page 150) 

17. gyves : fetters, chains. 

18. Armed, to the teeth : very fully or completely armed. 



Pages 150-152] A HYMN OF THE SEA 227 

26. swart: swarthy, black. 
42. deluge : the great flood m the time of Noah. 
54. Quaint maskers : subtle individuals whose real characters 
are kept hidden, mien. See note on 1. 25, Catterskill Falls. 

59. chaplets : garlands, wreaths. 

60. unbrace thy corslet : loosen or take off thy armor. It was 
the custom among the knights of feudal times to put off the heavier 
parts of their armor when not engaged in combat. See the descrip- 
tion given of Brian de Bois Guilbert, Chapter II., Scott's Ivanhoe. 

A HYMN OF 'THE SEA. (Page 152) 

10. warping : flying with a bending or waving motion. 

19. stemming : steering. 

24-39. But who shall bide thy tempest . . . upon the rocks. 

In Childe HarolcPs Pilgrimage, Byron describes the destruction of 
a fleet by a storm at sea in this way : — 

*' The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock -built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar." 

29. thoughtless : free from care. 

35. engines : cannon, guns. 

36. whelmed. See note on 1. 113, Hymn to Death. 
42. Welters : wallows. 

45. middle. See note on 1. 30, Monument Mountain. 

46. line : sounding line. 
59. living : in motion. 



228 NOTES [Pages 164-171 



THE PLANTING OE THE APPLE-TREE. (Page 164) 

13. thrush : robin, 

15. lea : meadow, grassy field. 

43. Cintra's vine. Cintra is a city in the western part of Portu- 
gal which is noted for its wines. 

51. sojourners : travellers. 

73. Bryant wrote to a friend, Dr. Orville Dewey, in November, 
1846 : " I have been, and am, at my place on Long Island, planting 
and transplanting trees, in the mist, sixty or seventy ; some for 
shade, most for fruit. Hereafter, men, whose existence is at pres- 
ent merely possible, will gather pears from the trees which I have 
set in the ground, and wonder what old covey of past ages planted 
them." 

THE SNOW SHOWER. (Page 169) 

In connection with the study of this poem read Lowell's The 
First Snow-fall and Emerson's TJie Snow Storm. 

12. prone : headlong. 

17. snow-stars. The star shape of the snow-crystal makes this 
expression an especially apt one. 

20. milky way : the luminous belt which is seen stretching 
across the sky at night. 

21. burlier: more bulky. 

37. middle. See note on 1. 30, 3Iomiment Mountain. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. (Page 171) 

Robert of Lincoln or Boblincoln is one of the names given the 
bird commonly known as the bobolink. It is also called the rice- 
bird and the reedbird. In connection with Bryant's characteriza- 
tion of it, read Lowell's The Bobolink. 



Pages 171-175] THE SONG OF THE SOWER 229 

H-I2. Wearing a bright black . . . white his crest. The male 
bird is black and white. 

19. Quaker wife : so termed because of her quiet life and modest 
color. 

20. with plain brown wings. The female bird is brown. 
66. humdrum crone : dull fellow. 



THE SONG OF THE SOWER. (Page 175) 

4. teeming : productive. 

28. wain. See note on 1. 14, The Battle-field. 

29. grange: farmhouse. 

35. lea. See note on 1. 15, The Planting of the Apple-ti^ee. 

41. Solferino's day :. a reference to the battle fought at Sol- 
ferino, a village in northern Italy, on June 24, 1859, between the 
Austrians on the one side and the French and Sardinians on the 
other. Three hundred thousand men took part in the struggle of 
whom thirty-five thousand were slain. The Austrians were de- 
feated. 

43. Mincio's brink. The battle of Solferino was fought on the 
banks of the Mincio River, a small stream in northern Italy. See 
note on 1. 41 above. 

56. rue : regret. 

67. matted : tangled. 

77. roof -trees : houses. An example of synecdoche, i.e. putting 
a part for the whole. The real meaning of the word roof-tree is a 
beam in the angle of a roof. 

78. mere : lake. 
116. dower : gift. 

126. alleys : narrow streets designed for the habitation of the 
poorer classes. 

128. roof -chambers : rooms in an attic. 

143. tilth. See note on 1. 17, Monument Mountain. 



230 JVOTES [Pages 175-187 

145. consecrated bread : bread reserved for use at the Lord's 
Supper. 

146. mystic : emblematical. The bread used at the Lord's Sup- 
per is emblematical of the body of the Christ. See Matt. xxvi. 26. 

173. genial: enlivening, quickening. 
186. spikes : ears of corn or grain. 
193. marts : markets. 

NOT YET. (Page 182) 

This poem was w^ritten in July, 1861, a few days after the first 
battle of Bull Run. It was addressed to the nations of Europe that 
were anxiously desiring the overthrow of our government. 

32. Eld's dim twilight : oblivion of the past. 

34. pit : abyss, grave. 

OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. (Page 184) 

This poem is a companion piece of Not Yet. It was written in 
September, 1861, and was addressed to the men of the North. 
7. crooked brand : sabre, cavalry sword. 
13. coverts : places of concealment. 
38. bourne : boundary. 
44. marge. See note on 1. 10, To a Waterfowl. 

THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW. (Page 187) 

The Little People of the Snow is marked by an ideal fancy which 
is rarely found in Bryant's poems. It is distinctly a fairy tale, 
and hence may be regarded as a companion piece of Sella. 

I. old world stories : stories dating back many ages, or stories 
of the eastern hemisphere. 

6. Goody Cutpurse : commonly written Moll Cutpurse. A name 
given to Mary Frith, a notorious woman robber who lived in 
Shakespeare's time. 



Page 187] THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW 231 

10. elves : imaginary beings with diminutive human forms, 
supposed to inhabit unfrequented places and to interfere in human 
affairs. 

11. gnomes : also imaginary beings with diminutive human 
forms, but very ugly and misshapen. Supposed to be the guardians 
of mines and miners. 

12. water-fairies : sea-nymphs. See note on 1. 173, Sella. 
16-18. 'Twas in the olden time . . . yet an acorn : the time 

of the story suggested. 

23-31. but when winter came . . . toward the vale. Compare 
these lines with 11. 181-210 (11. 8-37, Prelude to Part Second), 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

30. trotted. Is this an appropriate epithet ? 

34-38. for then the Alps, . . . Alleghany's streams. Another 
suggestion as to the time of the story. See note on 11. 16-18 above. 

39-41. Upon the slopes . . . Armenian vales. The geographi- 
cal setting of the story brought out. 

39. Caucasus : a range of mountains between the Black and 
Caspian seas. Mt. Elbrooz, the loftiest peak, is 18,526 feet high. 

40. Ararat: a mountain, 17,260 feet high, in the eastern part of 
Armenia and about two hundred miles south of the Caucasus 
range. Tradition has it that the first home of the human race was 
somewhere near its base. 

50. bid : bidden. Either form is correct, but the latter has the 
preference. 

61. parapets : defences. Ice, when forming along the edges of 
running water, has a tendency to crumple. This is probably what 
the poet had in mind. 

87-88. And moulding . . . flowers below. The frost, of course, 
is meant. 

loi. Linden. See note on 1. 108, The Fountain. 

107-110. She saw a little creature . . . than her cheek. Note 
the descriptive words used. Why are they effective ? 



232 NOTES [Page 187 

1 20. griffins : fabulous monsters, half lion and half eagle. 
146. snow-stars. See note on 1. 17, Tlie Snow-shoiuer. 
153. Florentine : Michael Angelo (1475-1564), the great painter, 
sculptor, and architect. 

155. fane. See note on 1. 60, Hymn to Death. 

156. Burgos : a city in the north-central part of Spain, known 
chiefly for its magnificent cathedral. The building was begun in 
1221 and finished in 1567. The architect's name is unknown. 

163. columnar : having the form of a column. 

165. Lebanon: a province in Asiatic Turkey bordering on the 
east shore of the Mediterranean Sea. It is noted for its cedars. 

171. alabaster: a variety of limestone, usually white in color, 
much used for ornamental purposes. For another use of the word, 
see 1. 343, Sella. 

180. cold : an unusual word to use with flames. Is it appro- 
priate ? 

188. colonnade : a series or row of pillars. 

194. pellucid : transparent, clear. 

200-203. as if the aerial hosts . . . grace a festival. The beauty 
and appropriateness of this simile make it deserving of careful 
consideration. 

214. meandering : consisting of intricate windings and turnings. 

274. East : the east wind. According to classic mythology the 
east wind was the same as, or closely akin to, the morning wind 
and was invariably associated with storms. 

296. pastoral. See note on 1. 515, Sella. 

338. communion. See note on 1. 2, Tlianatopsis. 

346. silvery rime : hoar-frost. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



abyss, 205-216. 

Adams, 214. 

aerial, 220. 

affect, 211. 

A Forest Hijmn, 212. 

A Hymn of the Sea, 227. 

alabaster, 224. 

albeit, 206. 

alcoves, 226. 

alleys, 229. 

alone, 216. 

Already had the strife begun, 220. 

A Meditation on Rhode Island 

Coal, 214. 
ancient, 209-226. 
Andalusia, 211. 
And, deep beyond, etc., 222. 
And mouldiug, etc., 231. 
And now the younger sister, etc., 

224. 
And then I think of one, 213. 
An Evening Revery, 226. 
annihilated, 213. 
Apennines, 220. 
A race that long, etc., 218. 
Ararat, 231. 
Armed to the teeth, 226. 
Arno's classic side, 208. 
As darkly seen, etc., 205. 
Asian horde, 220. 
Asian monarch's chain, 209. 
as if the aerial hosts, etc., 232. 



As if the ocean, etc., 218. 

aspen bower, 214. 

A Summer Ramble, 215. 

A, sweet eternal murmur, 222. 

At last the earthquake, etc., 209. 

A Winter Piece, 205. 

azure, 214. 

Bacchus, 221. 

Barcan wilderness, 203. 

bard, 218. 

bards, 212. 

battle-cloud, 222. 

bays, 217. 

beautiful river, 211. 

beetling, 210. 

beleaguerers, 219. 

beleaguering, 221. 

bid, 231. 

bier, 206. 

Blessed are they that Mourn, 206. 

Blue, blue as if, etc., 217. 

bourne, 230. 

brazen, 210. 

brinded, 219. 

Burgos, 232. 

burlier, 228. 

but when winter, etc., 231. 

calumnies, 207. 
canisters, 224. 
capitals, 210. 



233 



234 



INDEX TO NOTES 



carbine, 221. 
catamount, 219. 
Cattersl-iU Falls, 221. 
Caucasus, 231. 
causey, 20i. 
century-living, 212. 
cerulean, 217. 
chapeau bras, 214. 
chaplets, 227. 
chipping-sparrow, 225. 
Cintra's vine, 228. 
cold, 232. 
columnar, 232. 
communion, 203. 
Concord's plain, 220. 
consecrated bread, 230. 
consorts, 210. 
constellations, 212. 
continuous, 203. 
contexture, 223. 
coralline, 223. 
coverts, 230. 
crescent, 221. 
crisped, 218. 
crooked brand, 230. 
culled, 223. 
cumbered, 219. 

declines, 210. 
deem, 206. 
deluge, 227. 
demeanor, 224. 
desultory, 208. 
devoted, 22(5. 
diadem, 209. 
disembodied, 225. 
disembowered, 209. 
distaff, 223. 
dog-star, 215. 
dole, 209. 



dower, 229. 
dulse, 223. 
duly, 209. 

East, 232. 

Eld's dim twilight, 230. 

elves, 231. 

emanation, 213. 

engines, 227. 

Ere russet fields, etc., 202. 

Etrurian, 208. 

extortioner's hand, 207. 

fanes, 207. 

fells, 226. 

felon's latest breath, 207. 

fire, 219. 

fixed, 204. 

Florentine, 232. 

flower,. 211. 

forced, 219. 

For he is in his grave, 207. 

for them the Alps, 231. 

For thou to northern lands, etc. 

210. 
From afar, etc., 224. 
fronds, 223. 

gave back, 219. 

genial, 230. 

glade, 213. 

glen, 213. 

gnomes, 213. 

Goody Cutpurse, 230. 

grange, 229. 

graved, 222. 

green pupilage, 207. 

(Jreen River, 205. 

griffins, 232. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



235 



hang-bird, 214. 

hapless, 211. 

Hapless Greece, 215. 

Happy they, etc., 215. 

Hark, that quick, etc., 225. 

Havre, 214. 

her, 216. 

He rears his little Venice, 219. 

hie, 205. 

him, 216. 

hind, 220. 

Hindoo, 225. 

humdrum crone, 229. 

Hijmn to Death, 206. 

I behold them, etc., 218. 

/ Broke the Spell that Held me 

long, 210. 
I cannot see, etc., 222. 
illimitable, 205. 
image, 203. 

I meet the flames, etc., 219. 
impend around, 226. 
I must see, etc., 224. 
inexorable, 216. 
innumerable caravan, 203. 
Inscription for the Entrance to a 

Wood, 204. 
insatiate, 215. 
interminable, 209. 
interposing, 206. 
Is it that, etc., 210. 
issues, 219. 



Jove, 221. 
June, 213. 

kindling air, 212. 
kine, 222. 



Lalla Rookh, 214. 

last steps of day, 205. 

laurels, 209. 

lea, 228. 

Lebanon, 232. 

Lexington, 220. 

Libyan, 220. 

Like worshippers, etc., 211. 

linden, 221. 

line, 227. 

lithe, 207. 

liver-leaf, 225. 

living, 227. 

lore, 210. 

lute, 211. 

lymph, 206. 

mail, 221. 

Malay, 225. 

March, 210. 

marge, 205. 

marts, 230. 

matted, 229. 

maze, 219. 

mazy screen, 223. 

meandering, 232. 

melancholy, 203. 

mere, 229. 

meteor, 212. 

middle, 210. 

midrib, 223. 

mien, 221. 

milky way, 228. 

mimic canvas, 208. 

Mincio's brink, 229. 

MiSSOLONGHI, 215. 

Missouri's springs, 215. 

Mitre's kind control, 209. 

Moab's rocks, 206. 

Molten by inner fires, 223. 



236 



INDEX TO NOTES 



3Ionument Mountain, 210. 
mystic, 230. 

narrow house, 203. 

niches, 222. 

NiMROD, 206. 

noisome cells, 226. 

No Man knoweth his Sepulchre, 

206. 
not a prince, etc., 213. 
Not Yet, 230. 

obloquy, 203. 

ocean-mart, 220. 

Ode for an Agricultural Celebra- 
tion, 209. 

O'er Greece long fettered, 211. 

•office, 226. 

Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids, 
213. 

Oh, Greece, etc., 208. 

old world stories, 230. 

optimist, 226. 

Oregon, 203. 

orgies, 208. 

Othman, 211. 

Our Country's Call, 230. 

painted, 226. 
palm, 208. 
Pan, 221. 
papaya, 216. 
parapets, 231. 
Parthenon, 219. 
passing, 210. 
passionless, 222. 
pastoral, 224. 
patriarchs, 203. 
patriarch's board, 224. 
pattered, 208. 



Pawnee, 225. 

pellucid, 232. 

pensive, 221. 

Pentelicus, 219. 

Peruvian, 220. 

phantom, 203-221. 

pinnacles, 210. 

pit, 230. 

Pithy, 226. 

plaited tissues, 226. 

plane, 219. 

plane tree's speckled arms, 205. 

plashy, 205. 

plummet, 223. 

potent fervors, 210. 

primal curse, 204. 

prodigal, 208. 

prone, 228. 

proof, 222. 

pulses, 226. 

pulses of the tide, 223. 

quaint, 221. 
quaintly, 226. 
Quaint maskers, 227. 
quaint old measures, 224. 
Quaker wife, 229. 
quarry, 222. 

reverend, 211. 

reverent, 208. 

ripe, 207. 

river cherry, 205. 

Robert of Lincoln, 228. 

roof-trees, 229. 

rue, 229. 

"ruler of the inverted year, 

214. 
russet, 204, 



INDEX TO NOTES 



237 



sabbath, 215. 

sacrilegious, 218. 

sad images, 203. 

sages, 209. 

sallow, 225. 

sanguinaria, 225. 

Santee, 218. 

savanna's side, 216. 

scimitar, 211. 

sea-nymphs, 223. 

sea-thong, 223. 

seers, 203. 

Sella, 222. 

Sella, dear, etc., 223. 

sere, 213. 

Sesostris, 207. 

Seventy -Six, 220. 

shadbush, 226. 

shaft, 212. 

shallop, 222. 

shapes, 212. 

share, 203. 

she pours forth, etc., 214. 

She saw a little creature, 231. 

silvery rime, 232. 

simpler, 205. 

simples, 205. 

sluices, 206. 

smoky, 213. 

snow-stars, 228. 

sojourners, 228. 

Solferino's day, 229. 

Song of the Greek Amazon, 211. 

Song of Marion's Men, 217. 

SONORA, 218. 

sordid, 225. 

sounding, 223. 

spikes, 230. 

spinning-] enny, 214:. 

spousal rite, 224. 



stagnant, 221. 

stemming, 227. 

stern agony, 203. 

stole, 208. 

Summer Wind, 210. 

summons comes, 203. 

Suspended in the mimic sky, 215. 

swain, 203. 

sylvan lakelet, 222. 

Tartar, 225. 

tawny, 209. 

teeming, 229. 

tenor, 206. 

Thanatopsis, 201. 

that in flowery June, 213. 

The Ages, 208. 

The Antiquity of Freedom, 226. 

The Battle-Field, 222. 

The British soldier, etc., 217. 

The Conjunction of Jupiter and 

Venus, 212. 
the cnrse of Cain, 221. 
The Death of Schiller, 224, 
The Death of the Flowers, 213. 
The Fountain, 225. 
The Future Life, 225. 
The Gladness of Nature, 214. 
The Hunter of the Prairies, 219. 
The Hunter's Serenade, 216. 
the imperial star of Jove, 214. 
The Little People of the Snoio, 230. 
The Old Man's Counsel, 226. 
The Past, 216. 
The Planting of the Apple-Tree, 

228. 
the pra,irie-hawk, etc., 218. 
The Prairies, 218. 
The Rivulet, 209, 
the rude conquerors, etc., 219. 



238 



INDEX TO NOTES 



The Snoio Shoiver, 228. 

The solitary mound, etc., 217. 

The Song of the Soiver, 229. 

The surface rolls, etc., 218. 

The Twenty-Second of December, 

217. 
The Yelloio Violet, 203. 
The youth, etc., 207. 
There she stood, etc., 224. 
These dim vaults, etc., 212. 
Those ages have, etc., 208. 
Though forced to drudge, 205. 
thoug'^litless, 227. 
Thou hast, etc., 216. 
thrush, 228. 

till I thought, etc., 224. 
tilth, 210. 
Tiverton, 214. 
To a Cloud, 221. 
To a Waterfoiol, 204. 
To the Apennines, 220. 
To the Fringed Gentian, 217. 
tripped one as beautiful, etc., 223. 
tripping, 204. 
trotted, 231. 
True it is, etc., 206. 
tulip tree, 225. 
'Twas in the olden time, 231. 

unbrace thy corslet, 227. 

undulations, 218. 

nnmeet, 213. 

untimely, 207. 

Unwind the eternal dances, etc., 

208. 
up, 217. 
upland, 213, 



Upon the slopes, etc., 231. 
Upon the tyrant's throne, etc. 
213. 

various, 203. 
venerable, 202. 
vernal, 226. 
vernal hymn, 209. 
vernal sward, 220. 
viburnum, 225. 
virgin, 204-211. 
virgin orb, 212. 
void, 215. 
voluble, 210. 

wain, 222. 

Waned, 224. 

wantonness, 204. 

warping, 227. 

water fairies, 231. 

Wearing a bright, etc., 229, 

wells, 222. 

Welters, 227. 

whelmed, 207. 

while I am glorying, etc., 226. 

wildered, 206. 

wilding bee, 214. 

William Tell, 216. 

wind-flower, 206. 

witchery, 210. 

with a stripe, etc., 222. 

with plain brown wings, 229. 

Woe to the English soldiery, 217. 

yeoman's iron hand, 220. 
Yet slight thy form, 204. 
yon bright blue bay, 209. 



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